GRIP!" 


£ 


BY 


JOHN   STRANGE   WINTER 


NEW  YORK 

STONE  6  KIMBALL 

M  DCCC  XCVI 


COPYRIGHT,    1896,  BY 
STONE  AND  KIMBALL 


PS 


GRIP!" 

CHAPTER  I. 

BLACK    COAT    OR    RED  ? 

I  HAD  been  round  to  the  stables  after 
dinner  to  see  if  Joe,  the  under-groom, 
had  been  successful  in  getting  hold  of 
a  ferret  of  which  I  was  particularly  anx- 
ious to  possess  myself  at  a  reasonable 
price.  No  sign  of  Joe  was  to  be  found, 
and  I  sauntered  back  to  the  house  again, 
and  sat  down  under  the  veranda  which 
ran  along  the  side  of  the  house  where 
the  dining-room  was.  I  could  hear  my 
father's  voice  as  he  sat  over  his  wine 
with  his  great  friend  and  our  nearest 
neighbor,  Squire  Eden.  I  had  no  intention 
of  listening  to  their  conversation,  but  we 
Somerses  were  not  a  family  who  dealt  in 

5 


Grip 

secrets  and  seldom  or  never  took  the  trouble 
to  lower  our  voices. 

"Yes,  Eden,"  my  father  was  saying, 
"  I  know  the  living  is  yours  by  rights  ;  that 
was  why  I  gave  it  to  your  brother  Tom. 
But  now  that  he  is  gone,  poor  fellow,  I  mean 
to  put  in  a  warming-pan  and  keep  it  for 
George." 

"  But  why  don't  you  give  Somersley  to 
George  ?  "  Squire  Eden  asked.  "  You've 
got  a  warming-pan  there,  too." 

"  I  am  going  to  give  it  to  George,"  said 
my  father,  quietly. 

Squire  Eden  gave  a  low  whistle  of  as- 
tonishment. "  Whew  !  I  see  that  you  mean 
to  provide  for  the  lad  well — and  easily," 
he  remarked,  significantly.  "They  must 
be  worth  a  cool  thousand  a  year  between 
them." 

"  See  here,"  said  my  father,  as  if  a  bright 
idea  had  occurred  to  him.  "  My  George 
and  your  Margaret  have  been  sweethearts 
ever  since  they  could  toddle.  They  shall 
marry  and  live  at  Somersley.  'Tis  the  best 
house  of  the  two,  and  they  can  put  a  curate 
in  at  Thorpe-Hutton." 
6 


Black  Coat  or  Red 

"  Agreed,"  cried  the  Squire,  "  if  so  be  that 
the  young  folk  themselves  are  agreeable." 

I  slipped  out  of  hearing.  I  was  but  a  lad 
of  sixteen,  but  all  my  pulses  were  tingling 
and  my  blood  coursing  through  my  veins  at 
double-quick  speed.  With  pleasure  ?  Oh, 
dear,  no  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  with  anger 
and  fury  and  disgust.  Was  I,  for  the  sake 
of  a  paltry  thousand  a  year,  no  matter 
whether  it  happened  to  be  warm  or  cool,  to 
be  stuck  into  a  parson's  black  coat  and 
kept  psalm-singing  all  my  days,  when  my 
sole  aim  and  object  in  life  was  to  wear  the 
scarlet  of  the  soldier  and  to  carve  my  name 
indelibly  upon  the  great  roll  of  fame  ?  And 
all  for  the  sake  of  a  mere  girl — Pooh,  it  was 
preposterous  !  It  was  true  that  we  had 
been  reckoned  sweethearts  all  our  lives,  but 
to  become  a  parson  for  Margaret's  sake — 
why,  that  was  quite  another  matter. 

I  was  very  fond  of  Margaret — oh,  yes, 
and  I  admired  her  dainty  peach-bloom  face, 
but  to  be  a  parson — a  parson  !  That  was  a 
different  thing  altogether. 

Besides,  Margaret  was  such  a  mite,  four 
years  younger  than  I,  and  small  and  slight 

7 


Grip 

at  that.  It  was  preposterous  for  our  fathers 
to  try  to  settle  any  such  question. 

Margaret  was  the  eldest  of  the  Eden 
family.  Then  came  Edward,  the  heir,  a 
cocky  young  beggar  two  years  younger,  who 
always  seemed  to  have  his  elbows  or  knees 
out  The  second  girl,  Constance,  was  three 
years  younger  than  Edward,  and  the  other 
boy  was  four  years  younger  still. 

In  our  household  there  were  two  brothers 
and  two  sisters  older  than  I  and  one  boy 
younger — the  little  Benjamin  we  always 
called  him,  though  his  right  name  was 
Wynne,  after  my  mother's  family. 

At  this  time  my  eldest  brother  Robert 
was  in  the  Guards ;  then  came  Will,  a  dear 
old  chap,  in  London  reading  for  the  Bar. 
Then  the  two  girls,  Lucy  and  Rachel,  twins 
of  three- and-twenty,  both  rather  pretty  girls 
of  a  reddish  type.  Young  Wynne  was  only 
thirteen  years  old. 

We  were  all  reddish,  we  Somerses ;  and, 
with  the  exception  of  Wynne,  who  came 
into  the  world  as  our  mother  left  it,  we  all 
ran  to  size — not  mere  length  of  limb,  but  to 
breadth  of  shoulder  and  depth  of  chest,  and 
8 


Black  Coat  or  Red 

to  immense  strength  of  person  and  consti- 
tution. And  I  had  fully  made  up  my  mind 
that  no  black  coat  should  ever  case  in  my 
longings. 

I  had  hard  work  to  make  my  father  see 
things  in  the  same  light :  he  was  as  deter- 
mined as  I  was.  But  I  said  my  say. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  go  against  you,  Sir 
Robert,"  I  said  bluntly — we  all  called  our 
father  "  Sir  Robert,"  more  by  way  of  show- 
ing our  affection  than  anything  else — "  but 
I  cannot  be  a  parson.  The  people  would 
laugh  in  my  face.  The  farmers  would 
remember  the  apples  I  had  stolen,  and  the 
rat-hunts  and  the  cock-fights  1  had  joined 
in.  I  must  be  a  soldier." 

"  I  cannot  afford  another  soldier,"  said 
my  father. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  Bob  !  "  I  exclaimed. 
"  Oh,  I've  no  wish  to  be  a  fine  gentleman 
dandy  soldier  like  Bob." 

My  father  burst  out  laughing.  "  You  had 
better  not  let  Bob  hear  you  speaking  of  him 
in  such  fashion  as  that,"  he  said  chuckling. 
"  Gad,  he'd  crack  your  skull  for  you,  I  war- 
rant." 


Grip 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Sir  Robert,"  I  said  des- 
perately. "  I  want  to  be  a  soldier — I  wiil 
be  a  soldier." 

"And  what  about  the  two  livings — I 
meant  them  for  you  ? " 

"  I  can't  help  it.  Give  them  to  Wynne. 
He  is  delicate,  and  could  never  rough  it. 
He  will  be  far  happier  at  Somersley  Rec- 
tory than  ever  I  should  be.  Give  them  to 
Wynne." 

"  I  will  speak  to  him.  I  cannot  force 
Wynne  one  way  or  another,"  said  my  father, 
shortly. 

The  result  of  this  conversation  was  that 
my  father  held  a  consultation  with  Wynne, 
who,  young  as  he  was,  had  a  wise  little 
head  on  his  shoulders,  and  saw  the  sense  of 
things  as  if  he  had  been  twice  his  age. 
And  Wynne  consented  to  make  the  two 
livings  of  Somersley  safe. 

All  the  same,  I  was  not  a  little  uneasy  in 
my  mind,  fearing  that  Wynne  had  been 
sacrificed  for  me  and  I  sounded  him  on 
the  subject.  His  answer  reassured  me. 
"  Dear  old  George,"  he  said — Wynne  had 
always  loved  me  beyond  the  ordinary  ways 
10 


Black  Coat  or  Red 

of  brothers  from  his  babyhood — "  I  don't 
think  I  would  have  chosen  to  be  a  parson  ; 
I  wanted  to  be  an  artist — and  paint  pictures 
and  go  to  Rome.  But  Sir  Robert  is  anxious 
about  the  livings,  and  I  don't  mind.  You 
want  to  be  a  soldier.  I'll  be  the  parson." 

So  I  had  my  way,  and  my  father  pur- 
chased for  me  a  commission  as  ensign  in 
the  i36th  Foot — the  Regent's  Own.  I  was 
a  soldier  in  spite  of  everything. 

The  life  that  I  led  for  three  years  after 
I  entered  the  Army  does  not  in  any  way 
concern  the  story.  It  suited  me  to  a  nicety. 
I  loved  my  work  and  was  popular  among 
my  fellows.  I  was  a  strong  favorite  with 
the  men  of  my  company,  chiefly  because  I 
was  good  at  every  kind  of  sport,  could  drink 
without  showing  it,  and  was  blessed  with 
plenty  of  the  real  old  Yorkshire  pluck, 
which  was  my  birthright.  A  good  many 
lads  from  the  neighborhood  of  Somersley 
chose  to  follow  my  fortunes  by  enlisting  in 
the  i36th,  and  they,  not  a  little  to  the 
amusement  of  my  brother  officers,  persisted 
in  calling  me  "  Mr.  Garge,"  just  as  they 
had  done  in  the  days  of  my  boyhood,  when 
ii 


Grip 

we  had  raided  the  orchards  of  the  neighbor- 
hood together,  or  engaged  in  other  distrac- 
tions equally  common  to  all  sorts  and  condi- 
tions of  boys  living  in  the  depths  of  the 
country.  And  my  name  in  the  regiment 
was  "  the  Bulldog." 

The  first  time  that  I  went  home  after  I 
joined  was  just  a  year  from  the  time  of  my 
first  setting  out  into  the  world.  I  was  big- 
ger and  redder  than  ever,  and  my  father 
looked  my  inches  over  in  intensest  admira- 
tion. 

"  Well,  Sir  Robert  ?  "  I  said  at  last. 

"You're  no  beauty,  my  boy,"  said  he, 
drawing  a  deep  breath  ;  "  but  I  think  you're 
the  finest  fellow  I  ever  saw.  I'm  proud  of 
you,  George.  I'm  glad  you  chose  to  be  a 
soldier — 'twould  have  been  a  pity  to  waste 
so  much  bone  and  muscle  in  the  pulpit." 

So  I  was  well  satisfied  with  my  lot. 

The  following  year  I  did  not  go  home  at 
all,  pleading  the  expense  of  the  long  journey 
as  my  excuse,  for  we  were  quartered  in  Ire- 
land. When  time  for  my  long  leave  came 
round  again  Sir  Robert  wrote  himself  say- 
ing that  he  hoped  my  Irish  invitations  would 
12 


Black  Coat  or  Red 

not  blot  out  the  fact  from  my  memory  that 
I  had  a  home  in  Yorkshire  ;  also,  he  added, 
as  my  sister  Lucy  had  arranged  her  wedding 
to  take  place  in  November,  he  begged  I 
would  be  there  for  it. 

So  I  went  home.  I  was  then  nearly  of 
age,  and  I  do  believe  that  I  was  bigger  and 
broader  and  stronger  and  redder  than  ever  ! 

"Why,  Mr.  Garge,"  said  the  old  head- 
keeper  to  me,  "  you  do  grow,  to  be  sure ; 
you're  like  t'  side  of  a  hoose." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  I've  grown  pretty, 
William,"  I  remarked,  jokingly. 

The  sturdy  old  chap  shook  his  head  — 
"  Nay — nay,  Mr.  Garge,"  he  replied,  with 
the  literal  bluntness  of  a  true  Yorkshire- 
man  ;  "  if  beauty's  a  sin,  ye've  none  to  an- 
swer till." 

And  he  was  quite  right — I  was  uglier 
than  ever  !  Still,  beauty  or  no  beauty,  my 
want  of  looks  did  not  prevent  me  from  fall- 
ing in  love.  I  saw  Margaret  Eden  at  my 
sister's  wedding  for  the  first  time  since  I 
had  gone  into  the  Service,  and  if  I  had  not 
grown  in  beauty  Margaret  had  not  been  idle 
in  that  way.  I  saw — and  I  was  conquered. 

'3 


Grip 

I  realized  before  the  bride  and  groom  had 
gone  off  on  their  honeymoon  journey  that 
Margaret  Eden  was  my  fate — she  was  per- 
fection ! 

Well,  I  was  young,  well-born,  and  a  sol- 
dier. It  was  true  that  I  had  in  my  younger 
days  flung  away  the  chance  of  being  Mar- 
garet's husband  with  all  the  lavish  prodigal- 
ity of  youth.  I  had  refused  the  two  good 
family  livings  which  were  at  my  disposal, 
and  it  would  be  years  before  I  should  ever 
make  enough  to  compensate  for  them. 
Still,  I  should  have  a  modest  fortune  under 
my  mother's  marriage  settlement,  for  she 
had  been  well  dowered  as  well  as  beautiful. 
And  I  had  also  another  chance  of  inherit- 
ance from  my  mother's  sister,  who  was  my 
godmother  and  unmarried,  and  she,  being 
well  off,  might  be  expected  to  do  something 
for  me  when  she  should  have  no  further 
need  of  her  money. 

I  have  none  but  a  very  dim  remembrance 
of  my  mother,  and,  somehow,  I  never  liked 
to  ask  Sir  Robert  whether  she  had  at  all 
resembled  my  Aunt  Eliza  in  person — the 
very  thought  seemed  like  a  sacrilege.  And 

14 


Black  Coat  or  Red 

yet  Aunt  Eliza  was  kindness  itself  in  her 
way  to  us,  and — and — I  don't  know  that 
she  was  any  more  queer  to  look  at  than 
most  other  ladies  of  her  age  who  did  not 
wear  their  own  hair  and  spent  all  their  even- 
ings and  most  of  their  afternoons  playing 
whist  for  sixpenny  points. 

"  Bless  me,  Robert,"  I  remember  her  say- 
ing one  day  to  my  father  as  she  stood  by 
the  library  table  watching  him  write  a  letter 
— "  bless  me,  Robert,  your  hair's  as  gray  as 
a  badger,"  and  she  ruffled  his  curly  locks 
as  if  he  had  been  a  child. 

My  father  hated  to  have  his  hair  touched, 
and  he  recoiled  from  her  invading  hand 
with  a  look  of  deepest  annoyance.  "  I 
daresay  it  is,  ma'am,"  he  replied  with  acid- 
ity— "and  I  wonder  what  color  yours  is,  if 
one  could  see  it." 

"  Your  poor  father  is  getting  very  touchy," 
said  Aunt  Eliza  to  me  afterwards,  in  a  pity- 
ing tone.  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  it — it's 
such  a  bad  sign  in  an  elderly  man." 

They  often  sparred  like  this,  but  it  never 
went  any  farther,  perhaps  because  Sir  Robert 
remembered  that  we  at  Somersley  were  not 


Grip 

the  only  nieces  and  nephews  the  good  lady 
possessed.  But  of  all  I  was  her  special 
favorite,  and  I  saw  with  satisfaction  that 
she  regarded  Margaret  Eden  with  no  small 
amount  of  favor.  Several  times  she  des- 
canted to  me  on  her  charms  and  always  in 
contradistinction  to  my  two  sisters,  whose 
inches  andbonniness  were  a  source  of  great 
trouble  to  her. 

"  Nice  good  girls,  your  sisters,"  she  said 
to  me  the  day  after  my  arrival  at  home, 
"  but  I  must  confess  I  like  something  more 
genteel  and  ladylike — something  less  ag- 
gressively robust.  Now  Margaret  Eden 

is "  and  there  Aunt  Eliza  paused  and 

looked  at  me. 

And  when  the  next  day  I  saw  Margaret 
I  was  fain  to  confess  that  she  was — well, 
perfection. 

It  came  back  to  me  in  a  moment  that  I 
had  always  thought  her  so,  that  we  had  al- 
ways been  sweethearts,  that  she  was  the 
only  human  being  in  all  the  world  for  whom 
I  had  ever  felt  a  spark  of  real  romantic 
passion.  She  was  my  fate  ! 

How  curiously  things  fall  out !  I  fancy 
16 


Black  Coat  or  Red 

that,  if  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  had 
happened,  Margaret  would  have  been  kept 
very  carefully  out  of  my  way,  and  that  I 
should  never  have  been  given  the  chance 
of  making  any  impression  upon  her.  But, 
as  it  happened,  the  Squire  and  Mrs.  Eden 
were  called  to  London  by  the  serious  illness 
of  Mrs.  Eden's  mother,  and  Margaret  was 
left  practically  mistress  of  the  household. 
Of  course  there  was  the  old  nurse,  Goody, 
who  had  been  in  the  family  for  forty  years, 
but  her  time  was  pretty  well  taken  up  with 
a  new  baby,  and  she  did  not  count  for  much 
or  prove  any  check  upon  my  frequent 
visits. 

I  don't  know  that  I  should  have  gone 
over  to  Thorpe-Hutton  quite  so  often  had 
Mrs.  Eden  been  at  home,  but,  as  it  was,  I 
made  the  best  of  my  time  and  blessed  the 
considerateness  of  the  old  lady  in  London 
who  had  so  opportunely  fallen  ill,  though  I 
wished  her  all  in  good  time  a  happy  issue 
to  her  troubles.  Poor  old  lady !  She  did 
get  through  them  to  a  happy  issue  in  the 
end,  though  not  quite  the  one  that  I  had 
had  in  view — for  she  died  when  I  had 


Grip 

been  at  home  nearly  a  month  and  the  Eden 
family  was  plunged  into  deep  mourning. 

I  was  sorry  to  hear  that  the  poor  old  lady 
was  gone,  but  still  her  death  gave  me  a 
fortnight's  grace,  for  the  Squire  and  Mrs. 
Eden  had  to  stay  in  London  to  see  to  the 
funeral  and  arrange  her  affairs,  or  at  least 
set  them  in  train  for  settlement,  before  they 
could  think  of  returning  home. 

But  at  last,  just  as  my  leave  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close,  and  my  time  was  getting 
short,  the  news  came,  sent  on  from  York 
by  a  special  messenger,  that  they  would  be 
at  home  the  following  day !  This  intelli- 
gence, though  not  unexpected,  came  on  me 
like  a  thunder-clap. 

"  Margaret ! "  I  said,  speaking  in  a  great 
hurry,  "  I  must  speak ;  I  can't  hold  my 
peace  any  longer.  Margaret,  love,  darling, 
sweetheart  of  my  childhood,  say  is  there 
any  chance  for  me,  any  hope  ?  I  love  you, 
Margaret;  I  love  you  distractedly,  de- 
votedly ;  I  love  you  forever." 


Vain  Regret 


CHAPTER  II. 

VAIN    R.EGRET. 

"1\TARGARET,     your    answer?"      I 

IVI     cried. 

She  looked  half  shyly,  half  doubtfully, 
from  under  her  dark  lashes.  "Dear  old 
George!"  she  said,  softly, 

"  But  what  does  '  Dear  old  George  ' 
mean  ?  "  I  said.  "  Margaret,  don't  keep 
me  in  suspense." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  Say  '  yes,'  "  I  urged. 

"  But  I  cannot  do  that.  I  don't  know 
what  father  and  mamma  would  say.  I'm 
afraid  they  will  think  we  are  too  young  for 
one  thing,  and — and— " 

"But  you  don't  think  that  we're  too 
young,  Margaret  ?  "  I  cried,  almost  beside 
myself  at  ,the  very  hint  of  opposition. 


Grip 

"Oh,  Margaret — Margaret — if  you  love 
me  as  I  love  you,"  I  burst  out,  passion- 
ately— and  then  I  lost  my  head  and  caught 
hold  of  her  again.  "  Margaret,  you  do 
love  me  ? " 

She  looked  coyly  down.  "  I've  always 
loved  you,  George,"  she  said.  Then  quali- 
fied the  assertion  by  adding — "  all  of  you." 

"  Never  mind  the  others,"  I  cried,  des- 
perately. "  I  only  want  to  know  what  you 
feel  for  me.  Margaret,  speak." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she 
whispered. 

"I'll  teach  you  then,"  I  answered. 
"  See,  you  don't  say  a  word — but — but — 
you  look  at  me  and — and »"  and  Mar- 
garet kissed  me. 

I  felt  that  those  kisses  had  sanctified 
my  love,  that  they  had  given  her  to  me, 
that  our  betrothal  was  as  solemn  as  if  we 
had  stood  to  exchange  vows  before  the 
table  in  Thorpe-Hutton  church.  I  looked 
straight  into  her  half-frightened  eyes  and 
kissed  her  again. 

"  Dearest,"  I  said,  gently,  "  I  am  yours 
to  do  with  as  you  will  from  now  to  eternity. 
20 


Vain  Regret 


I  love  you.  Body  and  soul  I  belong  to 
you  and  you  to  me.  I  daresay  your 
father  and  mother  may  think  us  young  and 
improvident.  I  suppose  we  are  both  in 
truth.  And  yet — yet — if  we  love  one 
another,  what  do  such  details,  such  mere 
circumstances  as  money  and  provision 
matter  against  the  glory  of  our  love  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  that  father  and  mamma 
will  think  so,"  she  said  doubtfully. 

That  evening  after  dinner  I  told  my 
father  what  had  happened.  . 

"  Well,  young  man,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  you've  put  your  foot  in  it  properly." 

"  Not  at  all,  Sir  Robert,"  I  returned, 
rather  shortly.  "  I  have  done  the  best 
thing  for  myself  that  I  possibly  could  do." 

"  For  yourself — yes  !  But  Squire  Eden 
will  naturally  ask  whether  you  have  done 
the  best  thing  possible  for  Margaret  ?  " 

His  remark  seemed  to  pull  me  up  short, 
as  if  I  were  a  hound  that  had  strayed  too 
far  from  his  tether,  and  I  had  been  pulled 
up  with  a  jerk.  "  I  don't  see "  I  be- 
gan, but  my  father  interrupted  me. 

"My  dear  lad,"  he  said,  "you  never  do 
21 


Grip 

see  anything  but  what  happens  exactly  to 
suit  yourself  just  af  the  moment.  Now, 
it's  ten  chances  to  one  that  Squire  Eden 
will  think  and  say  that  the  marriage  or 
even  an  engagement  is  quite  out  of  the 
question ;  and  if  he  does,  I  must  warn  you 
that  although  you  are  my  son  I  shall 
uphold  him.  However,  if  you  manage  to 
bring  the  affair  to  a  successful  issue,  I  shall 
be  ready  with  a  hearty  welcome.  Here's 
to  your  health  and  hers,  my  lad,  and  good 
luck  to  you." 

The  following  day  I  rode  over  to  Thorpe- 
Hutton,  and,  giving  my  horse  into  the 
hands  of  one  of  the  grooms,  went  indoors, 
and  asked  for  the  Squire. 

The  servant  showed  me  into  the  Squire's 
study — a  little  room  where  he  kept  his  guns 
and  fishing-rods  and  attended  to  business 
matters. 

"  Ah,  George,  my  dear  lad !  "  was  his 
greeting  to  me.  "  Are  you  at  home  again  ? 
It  seems  years  since  I  saw  you.  What  a 
fine,  strapping  fellow  you've  grown  1  " 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,  sir,"  I  replied. 
"  I  hope  you  are  well — and  Mrs.  Eden  ?  " 
22 


Vain  Regret 

"  As  well  as  can  be,"  he  replied. 

"  I  daresay  you  are  surprised  to  see  me 
so  soon  after  your  arrival,  sir,"  I  began — 
"  but  the  truth  is,  I  felt  I  could  not  come 
too  soon.  I  have  come  to  ask  you  for 
Margaret." 

"  For  Margaret  ? "  he  repeated,  evidently 
not  having  fully  taken  in  my  meaning. 

"  Margaret  and  I  want  to  be  married, 
sir,"  I  explained. 

He  looked  up  in  a  startled  kind  of  way. 

"  To  be  married  ! "  he  echoed.  "  You 
and  Margaret  ?  Oh,  nonsense  !  " 

"  Not  nonsense  at  all,  sir,"  I  said  with 
dignity. 

"  You  and  Margaret !  But — but — she's  a 
mere  child — barely  out  of  the  schoolroom." 

"  Close  on  seventeen,"  I  put  in. 

"  Yes ;  but  what's  that  ?  A  mere  child. 
And  you,  George,  you  are  not  of  age  yet. 
Oh !  come  back  again  in  five  years'  time 
and  we'll  think  about  it !  " 

"  But  we  want  you  to  think  about  it  now." 

"  Oh  !  do  you  ?  Have  you  told  your 
father  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 


Grip 

"  And  he  is  willing  ? " 

"  Perfectly ;  if  so  be  that  it  is  not  dis- 
pleasing to  you — and  Mrs.  Eden." 

"Is  he  going  to  increase  your  allow- 
ance ? " 

"  We  did  not  speak  of  that." 

"  H'm !  Well,  my  dear  George,  I  should 
say  that  your  father  will  not  be  inclined  to 
think  of  it  either.  I  have  been  in  London, 
my  dear  boy,  for  a  few  weeks,  and  I  don't 
as  a  rule  walk  about  with  my  eyes  shut." 

"I  don't   understand  you,   sir,"  I  said. 

"  You  have  a  brother  in  the  Guards,"  he 
said,  more  significantly  ;  "  and  Bob  is  going 
the  pace  up  there  with  all  the  other  young 
bloods  of  his  set.  I  don't  think  your 
father  will  feel  himself  at  all  inclined  to 
increase  your  allowance  even  by  half.  Let 

me  see — you  have ?  "  He  broke  off 

and  looked  at  me  questioningly. 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty  a  year,"  Ire- 
plied,  and  surely  never  had  the  sum 
seemed  so  modest  to  me  before. 

"  And  you  have  debts  ? " 

"  I  am  not  what  could  reasonably  be 
called '  in  debt,'  sir,"  I  replied  a  little  hotly. 
24 


Vain  Regret 

"  No — no ;  I  am  not  trying  to  cast  asper- 
sions on  you,"  he  said,  soothingly.  "But 
still,  there  are  various  odds  and  ends  which 
will  have  to  be  settled  sooner  or  later — say 
a  hundred  to  a  hundred  and  fifty,  hey  ? " 

"Thereabouts,"  I  admitted;  and  I  felt 
as  if  the  ground  were  gradually  slipping 
away  from  under  my  feet. 

"  Yes,  I  thought  so — a  mere  trifle,  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  or  two  hundred — like  all  the 
other  young  bloods.  Still,  it  will  have  to 
be  paid — and  so  will  Bob's  few  thousands 
that  he  is  throwing  right  and  left  like  water. 
And  so  I  am  afraid  that  any  idea  of  a  mar- 
riage between  you  and  Margaret  is  alto- 
gether out  of  the  question  for  the  present — 
for  the  present,  at  all  events,"  he  ended, 
with  emphasis. 

I  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two  trying 
hard  to  gulp  down  my  disappointment  and 
chagrin.  At  last,  however,  I  ventured  to 
trust  my  voice. 

"  Squire,"  I  said,  and  I  felt  as  if  all  the 
blood  in  my  body  had  rushed  into  my  face 
and  was  seething  and  boiling  in  my  ears, 
"  I  have  known  you  all  my  life  and  I  must 

2S 


Grip 

be  above-board  and  honest  with  you.  I 
mean  to  have  Margaret  for  my  wife.  You 
know  the  Somers'  motto,  '  Grip.'  You 
know  the  Somers'  character  for  hanging 
on.  They  call  me  'the  bulldog'  in  my 
regiment.  I  mean  to  have  Margaret.  I've 
been  careless  and  I  have  a  few  paltry 
debis — I'll  pay  'em,  so  help  me  God !  But 
I'll  have  Margaret.  I've  set  my  heart  and 
soul  on  her.  She  loves  me  !  That's  enough 
for  me." 

He  looked  up  at  me  in  astonishment, 
then  rose  slowly  from  his  chair  at  the  table 
and  came  close  up  to  where  I  was  standing. 

"  D n  it,  my  lad ! "  he  exclaimed, 

"you're  the  finest  Somers  of  them  all. 
Give  me  your  hand.  I  hope  that  you  will 
get  through  and  that  my  little  maid  will 
be  true  to  you.  But  you  must  prove  your 
fine  words  and  show  what  stuff  you  are 
made  of." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  gripped  mine 
hard,  then  broke  out  almost  irritably, 
"Now,  why  the  devil  couldn't  you  follow 
the  course  your  father  and  I  marked  out 
for  you,  and  qualify  for  the  two  rectories  ? " 
26 


Vain  Regret 

"  Because  I  was  too  young  to  know  my 
own  mind,"  I  replied,  "  Sir  Robert  knew 
what  was  best.  He  ought  to  have  left  me 
no  choice  in  a  matter  so  serious." 

"  Nay,  lad,"  cried  the  Squire,  "  your 
father  was  right  in  the  main  and  you  were 
hard  set  on  having  your  own  way.  Never 
cast  it  back  at  him,  however  things  happen 
to  turn  out.  I  mind  me  how  my  poor 
mother  used  to  say  time  and  again  :  '  What 
is,  is  best.'  It's  a  rare  useful  saying.  Keep 
it  in  your  heart,  boy." 

"  But  about  Margaret  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  my  lad,  pay  off  your  few  bits  of 
debts — it  will  only  mean  a  little  self-denial 
— and  then  come  to  me  again  and  we'll  talk 
it  over  in  a  different  light.  But  the  maid 
must  be  free,  mind— »-tree  as  air." 


Grip 


CHAPTER  III. 

AUNT   ELIZA   SAYS   TWO   WORDS. 

I  HAD  but  a  few  days  of  leave  left  ere 
I  had  to  say  good-bye  to   my  sweet- 
heart and  make  the  long  journey  back  to 
Ireland  and  my  regiment. 

Margaret  promised  very  tearfully  that 
she  would  be  true,  and  her  mother  im- 
pressed upon  me  her  opinion  that  if  I  really 
loved  her  with  all  my  heart  I  should  best 
show  it  by  not  coming  back  until  my  debts 
were  paid  to  the  uttermost  farthing.  And 
the  Squire  thumped  me  on  the  back  and 
dismissed  me,  with  a  few  cut-and-dried 
choice  old  maxims  to  carry  me  on  my  way 
— "'  A  pin  a  day  is  a  groat  a  year,'  says 
poor  Richard ;  "  "  Take  care  of  the  pence 
and  the  pounds  will  take  care  of  them- 
selves ; "  "  A  penny  saved  is  a  penny  earned  " 
— and  other  such  scraps  of  cheese-paring 
information  ;  but  of  promises  I  had  none, 
28 


Aunt  Eliza  Says  Two  Words 

excepting  that  one  little  tearful  promise  of 
Margaret's,  which,  as  soon  as  my  back  was 
turned,  her  kinsfolk  might  try  all  in  their 
power  to  nullify. 

Well,  I  had  made  my  bed,  and  I  knew 
that  I  must  lie  on  it.  I  had  done  my  best 
to  retrieve  my  blunder  in  letting  the  chance 
of  Somersley  Rectory  slip  through  my  rin- 
gers. I  regretted  it  heart  and  soul — aye, 
heart  and  soul !  Not  that  I  felt  myself  the 
better  qualified  for  orders  than  I  had  done 
five  years  before.  No,  no ;  but  I  was  in 
love,  overwhelmingly,  desperately,  mad- 
deningly in  love,  and  I  would  willingly  have 
turned  chimney-sweep  'if  by  so  doing  I  could 
advance  my  cause. 

I  did  not  hear  from  my  sweetheart  until 
I  had  written  three  times  to  her.  Then  I 
received  a  shy  little  letter,  as  coy  as  my 
darling's  eyes. 

"  Mamma  thinks,"  she  said  in  the  course 
of  it,  "  that  you  are  extremely  extravagant 
to  write  so  frequently,  and  bids  me  say  so. 
Mamma  desires  to  be  kindly  and  affection- 
ately remembered  to  you,  and  bids  me  also 
say  that  in  her  opinion  once  in  three  months 
29 


Grip 

is  quite  often  enough  to  write,  particularly 
as  you  had  not  troubled  to  get  your  letters 
franked ! 

"  We  purpose,  as  I  daresay  you  will  be 
much  surprised  to  hear,  removing  to  Lon- 
don in  a  fortnight's  time,  so  as  to  spend 
the  main  part  of  the  season  there.  We  are 
still  in  somewhat  deep  mourning,  but  it 
was  my  dear  grandmamma's  especial  desire 
that  I  should  be  presented  at  Court  before 
my  eighteenth  birthday,  the  same  as  my 
mamma  was.  We  are  going  to  take  up  our 
abode  in  grandmamma's  house  in  Chester- 
field Square,  she  having  left  it  to  mamma 
for  the  purpose.  I  did  not  know  when  we 
parted  that  dear  grandmamma  had  left  me 
her  suite  of  pearls  with  a  wish  expressed 
that  I  should  wear  them  for  my  presentation 
and  on  my  wedding-day.  They  are  very 
fine  and  worth  a  large  sum.  Mamma  says 
I  am  to  regard  them  as  an  heirloom. 

"  I  hope  you  are  well,  dear  George,  and 
working  hard.  My  father  and  Constance 
and  my  brothers  desire  to  be  kindly  remem- 
bered to  you,  and  I  subscribe  myself  your 
affectionate  and  sincere  Margaret  Eden." 


Aunt  Eliza  Says  Two  Words 

It  was  a  dear  little  letter,  and  yet,  when 
I  read  it  over  a  second  time,  I  felt  that  its 
simplicity  was  not  so  real  as  seemed  upon 
the  first  blush !  So  they  were  going  to 
London  while  I  was  grinding  away  at  sol- 
diering in  Ireland,  and  while  I  was  saving 
every  halfpenny,  and  keeping  religiously 
out  of  the  way  of  the  blue-eyed  Irish  beau- 
ties, the  Edens  were  launching  out,  and  my 
Margaret  was  to  be  introduced,  against  all 
the  prevailing  notion  of  etiquette,  into  the 
gay  world  of  fashion. 

The  Somerses  had  never  shone  as  letter- 
writers,  so  that  I  never  looked  for  much 
news  from  home.  I  did  have  a  long  letter 
about  this  time  from  my  sister  Rachel, 
which  I  read  with  amazement. 

"  Our  neighbors,  the  Edens,  are  on  the 
eve  of  departure  for  London,  and  I  hear 
great  accounts  of  the  gay  doings  in  which 
they  expect  to  participate.  Doubtless, 
however,  my  dear  brother,  you  have  all  this 
news  at  first-hand,  so  I  will  not  fill  my 
paper  with  what  would  be  a  repetition. 
They  say  that  old  Lady  Maria  left  Mrs. 
Eden  a  fortune  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 

31 


Grip 

thousand  pounds,  and  certainly  their  lately 
increased  expenditure  does  not  seem  in- 
consistent therewith.  One  would  not  have 
credited  her  ladyship  with  the  possession 
of  as  many  pence." 

So  that  was  the  meaning  of  the  journey 
to  London — the  Edens  were  going  to  launch 
forth.  And  Lady  Maria  had  left  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  to  her 
daughter  !  That  was  news  indeed,  and  yet 
it  gave  me  no  pleasure.  For  it  was  plain 
that  had  they  meant  me  to  be  their  daugh- 
ter's husband  they  would  never  have  al- 
lowed a  paltry  couple  of  hundred  pounds 
to  stand  so  determinedly  in  the  way.  No ; 
it  had  been  but  a  ruse  to  gain  time,  so  that 
they  could  keep  me  quiet  in  Ireland,  and 
give  my  Margaret  every  chance  of  making 
a  more  eligible  alliance. 

I  wrote  several  times  to  Margaret  at  the 
address  in  Chesterfield  Square,  but  without 
success  of  reply.  And  then,  just  as  I  was 
beginning  to  have  wild  thoughts  of  going 
over  to  London  to  find  out  what  was  going 
on,  a  letter  came — and  the  blow  fell. 

It  was  as  I  expected.     She  wrote  herself, 

32 


Aunt  Eliza  Says  Two  Words 

but  I  recognized  the  true  spirit  of  Lady 
Maria's  daughter  in  every  line : — 

"  DEAR  GEORGE, — Mamma  and  I  feel  that 
it  is  due  to  you  that  I  should  write  to  you 
at  once,  to  tell  you  of  a  great  change  that 
has  taken  place  in  my  life.  I  am  engaged 
to  be  married  to  the  Comte  Desmond  de 
Lancy — a  French  nobleman  of  very  old 
family,  who  has  been  for  two  years  past  at 
the  French  Embassy  here,  but  who  is  now 
on  the  point  of  leaving  and  returning  to  his 
own  country.  You  will  be  surprised  that  I 
am  going  to  marry  a  Frenchman,  but  the 
Comte's  mother  was  an  English  lady,  a  cou- 
sin of  Lord  Pierpoint's,  and  his  sympathies 
have  always  been  English.  I  believe  that 
he  is  considered  too  sympathetic  to  Eng- 
land to  remain  longer  in  an  important  dip- 
lomatic position.  We  are  to  be  married 
in  about  two  months'  time,  and  will  live 
mostly  in  Paris,  or  on  Comte  de  Lancy's 
estate  on  the  Rhone.  He  is  very  rich. 

"  I  hope,  my  dear  George,  that  you  will 
be  content  to  know  that  I  am  happy,  and 
that  our  boy  and  girl  affaire  de  caur  will 

33 


Grip 

not  be  inconsistent  with  a  lifelong  friend- 
ship. I  have  already  received  your  father's 
congratulations,  as  he  is  in  London,  and 
was  here  taking  dinner  yesterday." 

So  they  had  carried  their  point,  and  the 
sacrifice  was  one  stage  further  towards 
completion  !  I  rose  up  in  a  fury  and  sought 
out  my  commanding  officer,  and  to  him  I 
preferred  my  request  for  leave  of  absence 
in  a  voice  which  trembled  so  much  that  my 
lips  could  scarce  frame  the  words. 

"  Is  anything  serious  the  matter  ?  "  he 
asked,  looking  at  me  in  amazement.  "  Have 
you  bad  news  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  very  bad  news,"  I  replied. 

"I  hope  your  father  is  not  dead?"  he 
said,  kindly. 

I  could  not  command  myself  to  speak 
for  a  minute  or  so.  "  It  strikes  nearer 
home  than  that,  sir,"  I  said. 

"  As  how  ?  " 

"  They  are  going  to  sell  my  sweetheart 
to  a  beast  of  a  Frenchman,"  I  burst 
out. 

It   was  enough  !     He  signed  the  paper, 

34 


Aunt  Eliza  Says  Two  Words 

and  an  hour  later  I  set  out  for  England 
and  London. 

By  dint  of  travelling  day  and  night,  I 
arrived  in  London  within  a  week  of  re- 
ceiving the  fatal  news.  I  repaired  straight 
to  the  house  of  my  Aunt  Eliza,  which  was 
in  a  street  of  tall  houses  just  off  Russell 
Square.  I  found  her  on  the  point  of  sitting 
down  to  breakfast,  it  being  hard  on  the 
hour  of  nine.  She  got  up  in  a  great  hurry 
when  she  saw  me,  calling  out,  "  Why, 
George — is  that  you  ?  Is  aught  amiss  ?  " 

I  told  her  all.  I  told  her  the  story 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  and  wound 
up,  "  Aunt  Eliza,  I'm  your  godson,  and 
my  mother  was  your  favorite  sister.  I've 
never  traded  on  it.  I've  never  asked  you 
for  a  shilling  in  my  life.  But  will  you  help 
me  now  ?  I've  paid  off  thirty  pounds  of 
my  few  debts  since  I  was  at  home  last  year. 
Will  you  help  me,  so  that  I  may  go  boldly 
and  say  '  I  am  free,'  and  claim  my  bride  ? " 

My  aunt's  comment  on  this  was  brief 
enough.  "  Little  hussy  !  "  she  said,  sharply. 

"  'Tis  none  of  her  doing,"  I  cried,  in- 
dignantly. 

35 


Grip 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  said,  dryly.  "But 
I'll  see  you  righted,  George,  so  far  as  the 
money  goes.  You've  come  to  me  fair  and 
straight:  and,  as  you  say,  'tis  the  first 
time  you  have  ever  asked  a  favor  of  me. 
You  shall  have  the  money  to-morrow,  and 
if  you  succeed  in  Chesterfield  Square  I  will 
promise  you  a  handsome  addition  to  your 
allowance — say,  three  hundred  a  year  as 
long  as  I  live.  When  I'm  gone,  what  I 
have  will  be  yours ;  I  don't  have  a  favor- 
ite for  nothing." 

I  have  a  dim  recollection  that  I  fell  down 
at  her  feet  and  hid  my  red  head  in  her  lap. 
I  can  feel  the  touch  of  her  hand  on  my  hair 
to  this  day.  "  Dear  Aunt  Eliza,"  I  said, 
after  a  time,  "  I  don't  want  to  be  looking 
forward  to  the  time  when  you  won't  want 
your  money.  I  am  no  fortune-seeker,  as 
you  know.  But  the  two  hundred  pounds 
I  do  want  and  badly,  and  the  help  that  you 
generously  offer  me  afterwards  I  accept 
with  all  my  gratitude."  And  then  I  kissed 
her  two  hands  and  struggled  to  my  feet 
again,  feeling  a  little  ashamed  of  my  out- 
burst. 


Aunt  Eliza  Says  Two  Words 

"There — there — get  a  good  breakfast 
and  then  go  and  see  what  fortune  awaits 
you,"  said  my  aunt,  kindly.  "  If  you  come 
back  a  victor  I'll  eat  the  words  I  uttered 
about  Margaret  Eden  just  now." 

She  was  safe  in  making  such  a  promise. 
I  went  along  to  the  house  in  Chesterfield 
Square,  a  grand-looking  mansion,  where  the 
door  was  opened  by  a  splendid  footman 
who  looked  me  over  as  if  I  were  something 
to  sell  and  he  had  no  mind  to  buy  me,  and 
after  some  delay  I  was  taken  into  a  dainty 
little  room  where  Mrs.  Eden  came  to  me. 

But  why  detail  what  followed  ?  In  brief, 
she  told  me  that  Margaret  was  distressed 
that  I  should  have  thought  anything  more 
of  our  little  affair,  that  she  was  devotedly 
attached  to  Comte  de  Lancy,  and  that  it 
would  be  as  useless  as  painful  to  see 
her. 

I  insisted  on  doing  so,  as  my  right,  and 
presently  Margaret  came  to  me,  a  Margaret 
that  was  lovelier  than  ever — a  fashionable, 
elegant,  modish  Margaret,  whom  I  did  not 
know,  and  yet  with  whom  I  was  more  madly 
in  love  than  I  had  been  with  the  simple 

37 


Grip 

little  maid  that  I  had  wooed  a  while  back 
at  Thorpe-Hutton. 

But  she  made  herself  quite  clear  to  me. 
Among  other  changes  she  had  acquired  a 
light  and  airy  manner,  so  that  every  word 
she  uttered  stabbed  me  right  to  the  very 
heart. 

"  Dear  old  George,"  she  said — the  very 
words  that  she  had  used  months  before  at 
Thorpe-Hutton,  and  yet  how  different — "  I 
am  afraid  you  are  feeling  anger  against  me  ; 
but  though  I  am  distracted  to  grieve  you, 
I  must  admit  that  I  have  given  all  my  heart 
to  Comte  de  Lancy." 

"  Margaret ! ''  I  said,  with  deep  reproach, 
"you  promised." 

"Did  I?"  she  asked,  airily.  "It  was 
very  silly  of  me.  You  see  I  was  a  mere 
child ;  and  I  had  never  seen  Desmond." 

I  saw  as  I  looked  hard  at  her  that  she 
was  utterly  lost  to  me.  It  was  no  use  to 
say  another  word — words  are  as  dross  in 
some  moments  of  our  lives.  I  looked  at 
her  again — I  forgot  myself,  the  Frenchman, 
everything,  and  I  caught  hold  of  her,  and 
kissed  her  fiercely  a  dozen  times.  She 

38 


Aunt  Eliza  Says  Two  Words 

freed  herself  at  last  with  a  cry,  "  How  dare 
you — how  dare  you ! "  she  gasped  ;  and 
then  she  snatched  a  little  handkerchief  from 
her  belt  and  rubbed  her  lips  hard  as  if  my 
touch  had  been  pollution. 

I  looked  at  her  and  laughed,  a  laugh 
that  sounded  frightful  even  to  my  own  ears. 
"Dare?"  I  said,  with  a  sneer;  "do  you 
ask  a  Somers  that  ?  Pah !  Keep  your 
Frenchman  out  of  my  way,  I  tell  you.  One 
day  I  shall  spit  him  like  a  lark  1 " 


Grip 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HOW,  WHEN,  AND   WHERE. 

WHEN  I  stumbled  out  of  Margaret 
Eden's  presence  that  day  I  was 
as  near  demented  as  ever  a  man  was 
in  all  this  wide  world.  I  hurled  myself 
down  the  wide  stairs  just  in  time  to  en- 
counter a  slight,  dark,  handsome  young 
man  in  the  hall.  I  cast  a  glance  at  him 
thinking  that  he  was  the  French  beggar 
who  had  stolen  my  sweetheart  from  me, 
but  the  fine  lacquey  who  was  just  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  turned  back  to  open  the 
door  for  me  with  a — "  One  moment,  my 
lord."  So  I  made  sure  that  he  was  only 
some  gay  young  spark  on  a  round  of  visits. 
So  I  went  from  the  house  bankrupt  of 
all  that  was  good  in  me.  I  had  said  to 
Margaret's  father  months  before  that  I 
meant  to  have  her  for  my  wife.  I  had 
flung  the  Somerses'  motto  in  his  teeth  and 
40 


How,  When,  and  Where 

flaunted  before  him  the  fact  that  in  the 
Regent's  I  was  known  as  "  the  Bulldog." 
And  this  was  the  end  of  it  all !  They  had 
carefully  avoided  fanning  the  flame  of 
Margaret's  love  for  me  by  even  the  small- 
est appearance  of  opposition ;  they  had 
acted  so  as  to  lull  any  suspicions  which 
might  be  lurking  in  my  mind  quietly  to  rest 
until  they  got  me  safely  out  of  the  way, 
with  the  breadth  of  the  Irish  sea  between 
us.  And  then  they  had  taken  her  away, 
had  launched  her,  all  young  and  impres- 
sionable as  she  was,  upon  a  sea  of  fashion, 
and  had  given  her  every  opportunity  of  for- 
getting her  promise  and  me  alike. 

No  doubt  it  was  true  enough  that  old 
Lady  Maria  had  expressed  a  wish  that 
Margaret  and  Mrs.  Eden  should  spend  the 
season  in  London,  and  that  Margaret 
should  be  presented,  but  I  had  little  or  no 
belief  that  the  wish  had  been  a  dying  one 
or  anything  more  than  a  suggestion  put 
forward  long  before  there  had  been  any 
likelihood  of  her  demise.  And  in  all  that 
they  had  done  they  had  shielded  them- 
selves behind  two  things — old  Lady  Maria's 


wishes  and  Squire  Eden's  stipulation  that 
the  little  maid  should  be  free  of  any  defi- 
nite promise  to  me,  if  so  be  that  she  should 
change  her  mind. 

It  was  not  more  than  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  from  Chesterfield  Square  to  Hammett 
Street,  but,  in  my  rage,  I  gave  no  heed  to 
my  way  and  I  walked  up  and  down  an  ap- 
parently endless  succession  of  streets  and 
squares  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  tramp  my- 
self into  composure  again.  I  set  my  teeth 
hard  and  ground  them  together,  while  wild 
vows  rose  up  in  my  heart  that  I  would  be 
even  with  the  cur  who  had  stolen  my  sweet- 
heart. Aye,  it  was  a  fine  revenge  for 
Waterloo  to  deprive  an  Englishman  of  his 
maid,  and  like  enough  when  he  got  her 
safely  to  his  estate  on  the  Rhone,  he  would 
practise  every  devilish  cruelty  upon  her 
that  the  ingenuity  of  man  could  devise,  just 
by  way  of  paying  a  little  of  the  nation's 
debt  against  us. 

The  very  thought  was  maddening  agony 
to  me.  I  felt  as  if  I  would  like  to  seek  out 
this — this — Comte — and — and — j  ust  tread 
upon  him  !  And  yet  I  was  so  helpless,  so 

4* 


impotent.  What  could  I  do  ?  Margaret 
was  in  love  with  him  !  In  her  happiness 
she  had  been  cruel  enough  to  speak  of  our 
— of  my  love  as  '  a  boy-and-girl  affair. ' 
She  had  spoken  of  a  lifelong  friendship. 
My  God !  As  if  such  a  friendship  was 
possible  for  me  !  She  was  going  willingly 
enough  to  the  estate  on  the  Rhone — she 
was  as  much  lost  to  me  as  if  all  the  devils 
in  hell  stood  between  us  ! 

At  last  I  found  myself,  almost  by  acci- 
dent, at  the  door  of  my  aunt's  house  in 
Hammett  Street,  when  I  suddenly  realized 
that  I  was  spent  with  fatigue  and  excite- 
ment ;  so  I  turned  and  went  in. 

My  aunt  was  just  passing  through  the 
hall  to  the  dining-room  on  her  way  to  din- 
ner, for  she  proclaimed  herself  an  old-fash- 
ioned lady,  and  dined  at  two  o'clock,  tak- 
ing supper  at  the  same  hour  as  we  dined 
at  Somersley.  I  believe  that  her  passion 
for  whist  had  to  do  with  this,  as  a  cold 
supper  may  be  a  movable  feast,  while  a 
waiting  dinner  is  most  frequently  a  spoiled 
one. 

"  Is  that  you,  George  ?  "  she  said.   "  You 

43 


Grip 

are  just  in  time  for  dinner.  I've  got  salmon 
and  boiled  mutton — your  favorite  dishes." 

She  must  have  sent  out  purposely  to  get 
them,  and  I  followed  her  into  the  dining- 
room,  although  my  very  gorge  rose  at  the 
thought  and  mention  of  food.  "James," 
said  my  aunt  to  her  servant,  "  you  need  not 
wait  to-day.  Mr.  George  and  I  want  to  be 
alone." 

The  servant  arranged  the  table  so  that 
we  could  help  ourselves  and  then  retired. 
As  the  door  closed  behind  him  Aunt  Eliza 
looked  up  at  me  across  the  cut  of  steaming 
salmon  and  said  in  a  sharp  tone  of  interro- 
gation—" Well  ? " 

My  answer  was  a  groan. 

"Ah,  then  you're  satisfied  that  it's  all 
true,"  she  remarked.  "  I,  of  course,  knew 
it  all  along." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  warn  me  in  the 
beginning  ? "  I  cried,  fiercely. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  never  confided  in 
me,"  she  replied.  "  I  heard  the  first  news 
of  it  from  your  father,  who  was  here  a  few 
days  back.  He  was  full  of  it — and  of  what 
your  disappointment  would  be.  It  was  the 

44 


How,  When,  and  Where 

first  that  I  had  heard  of  it  or  that  you  were 
even  thinking  about  Margaret,  the  little 
hussy.  But,  George,  take  my  advice.  I've 
never  been  married,  but  I'm  a  woman  of 
the  world — there's  no  squeamish  ness  about 
me.  Eat !  Eat !  An  empty  sack  never 
yet  stood  upright,  and  whether  you're 
broken  in  love  or  fortune  a  good  stomach- 
ful  will  always  stand  you  in  good  stead. 
Try  this  salmon — it's  as  good  as  one  ever 
gets  in  London." 

I  took  the  salmon  and  the  boiled  mutton, 
and  some  apple  tart  and  prime  Cheshire 
cheese  which  followed,  and  I  certainly  felt 
all  the  better  for  them. 

"Now,"  said  Aunt  Eliza,  when  I  had 
come  to  an  end;  "now  I  want  to  know 
what  you  are  going  to  do  ? " 

"Kill  him,"  I  replied,  briefly,  for  the 
good  dinner,  while  it  had  made  me  physi- 
cally better,  had  not  in  any  sense  softened 
my  rage.  "  Kill  him  ! "  I  repeated. 

"  Good ! "  said  my  aunt.  "  But  the  ques- 
tion is  how,  when,  and  where?  " 

I  looked  up  in  amazement.  "  Hey  ? "  I 
said,  puzzled. 

45 


Grip 

"  Just  this !  Because  a  little  hussy  has 
jilted  you,  and  a  Frenchman  has  cheated 
you,  there's  no  need  to  ruin  your  life  and 
bring  all  your  family  into  disrepute.  This 
Comte  de  Lancy  is  a  person  of  considerable 
importance  here,  and  his  position  at  the 
Embassy  brings  him  very  much  into  notice  ! 
I  suspect  that  there  will  be  trouble  if  you 
challenge  him  here — and  happen  to  kill  him." 

"  I  shall  certainly  kill  him,"  I  put  in. 

"I  daresay  you  will,"  said  my  aunt, 
helping  herself  to  some  fruit,  "  and  that 
answers  my  question  of  how  ?  The  next 
question  is  when  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  get  hold  of  him." 

"No,  no;  for  we  have  already  decided 
that  it  must  not  be  managed  so  as  to  spoil 
your  prospects,"  she  insisted.  "  I  don't 
know  how  far  it  may  be  true,  but  I  am  told 
that  the  duke  strongly  disapproves  of  duel- 
ling." 

"  It's  true  enough,"  I  admitted. 

"  Then  a  duel  with  a  prominent  French- 
man will  about  cook  your  goose  in  that 
quarter — whether  it  be  in  England  or  in 
France." 

46 


How,  When,  and  Where 

"  Then,"  said  I,  doggedly,  leaning  back 
in  my  chair  and  keeping  my  eyes  fixed  on 
my  glass  of  port  wine ;  "  then  my  goose 
must  be  cooked,  that's  all." 

"  H'm  !  Then  that  almost  disposes  of 
the  question  of  when  and  where,"  said  my 
aunt.  "  George,  you'd  better  give  it  up." 

"  Aunt  Eliza,  I  can't  and  won't  give  it 
up,"  I  said,  setting  my  teeth,  and  speaking 
through  them.  "  I  had  rather  give  up  my 
life." 

"  She's  not  worth  it,"  said  my  aunt,  de- 
liberately cracking  a  nut  and  dipping  it  in 
the  salt  on  the  edge  of  her  plate.  "  But  I 
understand  you  well  enough.  I  once  hated 
a  woman  like  that.  You  mean  to  give  up 
your  commission,  then  ?  "  She  spoke  as 
coolly  as  if  she  had  said,  "  Are  you  going 
to  fill  your  glass  again  ?  "  and  her  manner 
was  as  refreshing  to  me  as  if  she  had  put 
my  revenge  into  my  hand  without  the 
trouble  of  seeking  it. 

"  I  must  wait  till  I  am  of  age  for  that," 
I  said. 

"  And  your  birthday  is  in  September  ! 
Yes,  that  will  give  them  time  to  get  com- 

47 


Grip 

fortably  married  and  settled  down  on  their 
estate  on  the  Rhone.  It  seems  to  be  there 
right  enough  and  that  silly  Mrs.  Eden  de- 
clares that  he  is  very  rich,  but  I  daresay 
they  make  the  most  of  it.  Most  likely 
they  will  winter  in  Paris." 

"  He  will  winter  in  a  wanner  climate," 
I  snarled. 

My  aunt  laughed.  "  Doubtless  !  How- 
ever, we  can  leave  that  to  chance.  Do 
you  mean  to  confide  in  your  father  ?  " 

"Not  a  word,"  I  replied. 

"  Then  I  must  keep  your  counsel  !  Then 
what  excuse  will  you  make  to  him  for  giv- 
ing up  the  Army  ?  " 

"  None.  I  shall  give  it  up  and  tell  him 
afterwards.  He  will  but  think  that  I  am 
fickle  and  have  changed  my  mind,  and  if 
he  blames  Margaret  Eden  he  will  all  the 
better  understand  my  situation  when  I 
have  killed  her  husband." 

"Good!  Well,  boy,  I'm  grieved  that 
your  wooing  has  sped  so  badly — most 
grieved.  But  I  love  a  lad  to  be  a  lad,  and 
whatever  happens  you  may  consider  your- 
self your  godmother's  heir  from  this  mo- 

48 


How,  When,  and  Where 

ment.  The  money  for  your  few  debts  you 
shall  have  to-morrow,  and  I'll  settle  the 
question  of  your  allowance  when  we  hear 
what  your  father's  intentions  are." 

I  put  out  my  hand  and  took  hers,  then 
bent  and  kissed  it. 

"  Aunt  Eliza,"  I  said,  brokenly,  "  why 
are  you  so  good  so  me  ?  " 

"  Tut,  boy.  I'm  your  godmother — your 
mother's  favorite  sister.  And,  besides 
that,  I've  a  fellow-feeling  with  you.  Didn't 
I  tell  you  that  I,  too,  have  hated  in  my 
time,  and  do  yet  for  the  matter  of  that, 
when  I  happen  to  think  of  it,  which  is  not 
often,  thanks  be  to  goodness.  Still,  hate 
is  a  serpent  that's  hard  to  kill ;  one  never 
knows  when  there's  life  in  it.  Your  trou- 
ble, boy,  has  told  me  that  this  especial 
serpent  of  mine  is  only  scotched,  not 
killed,  and  so  I  am  the  more  disposed  to 
help  you  than  I  should  be  if  I  were  the 
old  maid  some  people  take  me  for.  I'll 
stand  by  you,  George — here's  my  hand  on 
it." 

She  left  me  then,  being  due  at  a  whist- 
party  upstairs.  Eleven  old  ladies,  all  as 

4  49 


Grip 

keen  on  gaming  as  herself,  had  arrived 
while  we  were  talking,  and  James  came  to 
warn  her  that  coffee  and  cream  was  served. 

"Coffee  and  cream,  Aunt  Eliza?"  I 
said,  in  surprise.  "What  a  mixture  to 
play  whist  on." 

"  French  cream,"  said  my  aunt,  with  a 
wink  that  would  have  done  me  no  dis- 
credit. 

She  adjusted  her  turban  at  the  pier-glass 
ere  she  left  me,  and  bade  me  not  sit  too 
long.  "  Remember,  you've  got  an  object 
in  keeping  your  head  clear,"  she  said,  sig- 
nificantly. 

She  was  a  brave  old  girl,  my  Aunt  Eliza, 
and  I  sat  down  again  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
that  she  had  taken  my  trouble  so  well,  and 
in  such  a  spirit  of  generosity.  For,  you 
see,  her  help  would  make  me  free  as  air  to 
hunt  this  French  rat  down,  and  fight  him, 
whether  he  would  or  no. 

I  had  little  or  no  choice  but  to  sit  down 
with  the  best  grace  that  I  could  muster 
and  wait  until  time  and  opportunity  should 
deliver  mine  enemy  into  my  hand.  I  had 
but  -enough  leave  of  absence  to  enable  me 

5° 


How,  When,  and  Where 

to  stay  four  days  in  London ;  at  the  end 
of  that  time  I  must  set  out  upon  my  return 
journey,  and  until  I  was  of  age  to  take 
the  conduct  of  my  affairs  entirely  into  my 
own  hands,  I  must  put  in  the  time  in  Ire- 
land and  perform  my  military  duties  with 
what  zest  I  could.  In  September  I  should 
be  free  to  throw  off  the  trammels  of  the 
profession  that  I  had  entered  with  all  the 
fervor  of  heart  and  soul.  And  then,  hey 
for  liberty,  equality,  and  that  fraternity 
which  would  end  in  six  inches  of  cold  steel 
for  myself  or  for  my  enemy — the  French 
dog  who  had  got  the  better  of  me  1 


Grip 


CHAPTER  V. 

A     MARKED     MAN. 

I  SPENT  the  remainder  of  my  time  in 
London  in  tracking  down  the  Comte 
de  Lancy.  My  aim  was  to  make  myself 
well  acquainted  with  his  person,  so  that 
I  might  have  no  difficulty  in  recognizing 
him  later  on,  when  I  should  have  need  of 
him. 

I  found  no  little  difficulty  in  placing  him, 
for  I  was  a  comparative  stranger  to  the 
great  city,  and  did  not  know  the  ways  of 
those  who  were  habitually  living  there.  I 
could  not  go  in  and  out  of  the  different 
clubs  saying,  "  Would  you  do  me  the 
favor  to  point  out  the  Comte  de  Lancy, 
sir  ? "  I  might  perchance  have  hit  upon 
the  gentleman  himself.  And  had  I  not 
committed  quite  so  maladroit  a  blunder  as 
that,  I  might  have  aroused  suspicion  in  the 
minds  of  those  whom  I  addressed,  in  spite 
of  the  uniform  that  I  wore. 

52 


A  Marked  Man 

Besides  these  considerations  I  felt  strange 
in  the  gay  world,  and  like  a  fish  out  of 
water.  I  was  but  a  soldier  engrafted  on 
the  nature  of  a  simple  country  gentleman ; 
I  knew  not  the  ways  of  life  of  those  around 
me.  They  prated  a  jargon  that  I  barely 
understood,  I  was  all  at  sea  in  the  man- 
ners and  modes,  and  my  brother  Bob,  the 
dandy  Life  Guardsman,  who  might  have 
put  me  at  my  ease  and  told  me  all  the 
things  that  I  most  wanted  to  know  and  yet 
would  not  ask  of  a  stranger,  had,  I  found, 
gone  away  on  a  few  days'  leave  of  absence. 
So  I  wandered  about  the  streets,  always 
watching  for  a  sight  of  one  beloved  face 
and  hoping  to  see  one  near  to  it  which 
would  give  me  the  clue  I  sought. 

I  was  too  ken-speck  myself  to  venture 
much  in  the  neighborhood  of  Chester- 
field Square,  for  I  did  not  want  to  bring 
myself  into  contempt  with  the  Eden  family, 
or  to  do  anything  which  would  place  me 
incontestibly  in  the  wrong  and  so  lower 
me  in  their  eyes,  especially  hers.  I  vent- 
ured into  the  square  on  the  second  even- 
ing after  the  dusk  had  fallen,  but  I  saw 

S3 


Grip 

no  sign  of  them.  Evidently  they  were  all 
out  junketing. 

As  I  said  I  was  too  ken-speck  myself  to 
take  any  but  the  most  ordinary  measures 
in  my  searchings.  Never  a  time  did  I  walk 
down  a  London  street  but  some  juvenile 
wag  would  make  some  remark  relative  to 
my  great  size  and  height. 

But,  at  last,  just  as  I  was  beginning  to 
think  that  I  should  have  to  go  back  to  Ire- 
land without  having  marked  my  man,  I 
saw  them — I  mean  Margaret  Eden  and 
Comte  de  Lancy — walking  along  the  Hay- 
market  together,  and*  to  my  intense  sur- 
prise I  found  that  Comte  de  Lancy  was  no 
other  than  the  man  whom  I  had  encoun- 
tered in  the  hall  at  Chesterfield  Square, 
and  whom  I  had  heard  addressed  as  "my 
lord "  by  Squire  Eden's  magnificent  foot- 
man. 

They  did  not  perceive  me.  They  had 
evidently  just  got  out  of  a  carriage  which 
was  following  at  a  foot's  pace.  They  were 
laughing  and  talking  very  gayly,  and  his 
air  of  devotion  to  her  was  sickeningly  ful- 
some. I  understood,  if  that  was  the  kind 

54 


A  Marked  Man 

of  attention  she  liked,  how  it  was  my  sim- 
ple and  honest  love-making  had  failed  to 
satisfy  her. 

They  were  so  taken  up  with  each  other 
that  they  never  noticed  me — at  least  Mar- 
garet Eden  did  not  perceive  me,  and  he 
probably  had  caught  so  fleeting  a  glimpse 
of  my  person  that  day  in  Chesterfield 
Square  that,  even  had  he  looked  me  full  in 
the  face,  he  would  not  have  recognized  me. 

They  passed  into  a  jeweler's  shop,  and 
the  spruce  carriage  with  its  tall  fine  horses 
drew  up  at  the  kerb.  I  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment watching  them  through  the  window. 
Bah !  the  sight  was  too  sickening.  To 
think  that  a  maid  who  had  once  loved  me 
could  be  satisfied  for  a  moment  with  such 
a  whipper-snapper  as  this  De  Lancy! 
True,  he  had  a  handsome  face,  straight  in 
feature,  and  brilliant  in  coloring,  but  com- 
pared with  me  he  was  a  shrimp,  a  weak- 
ling, a  mere  make-believe  of  a  man. 

Doubtless  he  had  been  a  gay  spark 
enough  in  his  time;  he  had  the  appear- 
ance of  it,  but  the  over-profusion  of  his 
manner,  the  vehemence  of  his  gestures, 

55 


Grip 

and  the  elaborate  care  which  had  been  be- 
stowed on  his  toilet,  all  combined  to  create 
an  unmanliness  which  was  abhorrent  to 
me,  as  it  ought  to  have  been  to  any  York- 
shire lass  trained  from  her  cradle  to  the 
appreciation  of  every  healthy  and  manly 
pursuit. 

I  watched  them  long  enough  for  their 
coquetries  to  fill  my  very  soul  with  loath- 
ing, and  to  impress  my  fine  gentleman's 
face  indelibly  upon  my  memory,  and  then 
I  tore  myself  away  from  the  window  and 
swung  away  towards  Pall  Mall.  I  hated 
them,  myself,  London  and  every  one  in  it, 
and  my  whole  soul  was  filled  by  one  feel- 
ing only,  a  savage  hunger  and  thirst  for 
revenge — revenge — revenge  ! 

The  next  morning  I  bade  good-bye  to 
my  aunt  and  set  out  upon  my  return  jour- 
ney. Her  parting  words  rang  in  my  ears 
as  I  went.  "  Remember,"  she  said,  as  I 
kissed  her  for  the  last  time,  "  that  you  have 
an  object.  Live  by  line  and  rule,  so  that 
you  shall  be  in  perfect  condition  both  of 
mind  and  body  when  your  time  comes. 
He  has  no  such  incentive — his  life  during 

56 


A  Marked  Man 

the  next  three  months  will  be  one  of  self- 
indulgence  and  holiday-making.  Pay  all 
your  debts  as  soon  as  you  are  settled  in 
your  quarters,  and  keep  your  living,  while 
you  are  waiting,  as  economical  as  you  can. 
You  will  want  all  your  money.  I  have 
been  buying  the  bride's  wedding-gift  this 
this  morning.  I  bought  what  I  thought 
would  be  appropriate — a  sachet  lined  with 
peau  d'Espagne,  and  holding  a  dozen  finely- 
embroidered  handkerchiefs.  She,"  signifi- 
cantly, "  will  want  'em  !  " 

I  laughed  fiercely,  and  it  was  with  that 
picture  of  desolation  and  widowhood  in  my 
mind's  eye  that  I  turned  my  back  upon  the 
great  town  which  held  my  darling,  who  was 
on  the  eve  of  marriage  with  another. 

My  aunt  wrote  to  me  when  the  sacrifice 
was  completed.  In  my  interests  she  had 
accepted  the  invitation  to  the  wedding, 
and  was  indeed  the  only  member  of  my 
family  who  was  present,  not  because  of 
any  feeling  for  me,  but  because  those  in 
Yorkshire  never  thought  of  making  so  long 
a  journey  on  purpose,  and  my  two  brothers 
who  passed  most  of  their  lives  in  London 

57 


Grip 

were  both  engaged  elsewhere  on  that  day. 
My  doughty  old  aunt,  however,  went  as  a 
matter  of  principle,  and,  I  should  say, 
gloated  over  the  sorrow  not  far  ahead  for 
the  pretty  bride — if,  that  is,  her  letters  to 
me  were  any  criterion  of  the  state  of  her 
feelings. 

Among  other  items  of  news  that  I  gath- 
ered from  her  was  the  announcement  of  the 
fact  that  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Lancy 
were  going  abroad  within  a  few  days  of  the 
marriage,  first  to  visit  the  estate  on  the 
Rhone  and  then  to  spend  the  winter  in  Paris. 

I  smiled  to  myself  a  grim  and  mirthless 
smile,  remembering  that  I,  too,  was  des- 
tined to  spend  the  winter  in  Paris — or  part 
of  it. 

It  was  almost  winter  when  I  found  my- 
self free  of  all  English  trammels  and  ready 
to  start  for  France,  with  the  price  of  my 
commission  safely  lodged  in  my  bank, 
which,  with  my  quarterly  allowance  from 
my  father  and  a  gift  of  a  hundred  pounds 
from  my  aunt,  made  a  very  tidy  feeling  of 
security  for  me.  So  well  provided  for,  I 
had  no  compunction  in  equipping  myself 

58 


A  Marked  Man 

as  a  man  of  moderate  fashion,  so  that  I 
might  go  from  the  first  into  such  society  as 
would  sooner  or  later  bring  me  in  contact 
with  my  enemy. 

I  wrote  a  letter  of  farewell  to  my  father ; 
told  him  that  I  had  sold  out  of  the  Army ; 
that  I  was  going  abroad  for  reasons  of  a 
purely  personal  kind  ;  begged  him  not  to 
be  uneasy  about  me,  and  assured  him  that 
I  would  write  home  from  time  to  time.  I 
begged  him  to  excuse  me  if  I  seemed  want- 
ing in  respect  in  not  having  gone  down  to 
Yorkshire  to  bid  him  and  my  family  fare- 
well, and  pleaded  as  my  reason  considera- 
tion for  the  expense  of  the  journey.  Then 
I  bade  good-bye  to  my  aunt,  and  set  off  on 
my  quest.  And  surely  never  did  knight 
of  old  set  out  on  holy  mission  with  more 
zeal  and  fervor  in  his  heart  than  I  set  out 
from  my  native  country  in  order  that  I 
might  hunt  down  even  to  the  very  death 
the  man  who  had  stolen  my  best  beloved 
— the  maid  of  my  heart — from  me.  It 
might  be  thought  that  the  months  which 
had  gone  by  would  have  somewhat  softened 
my  hatred  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  in  reality 

59 


Grip 

they  seemed  rather  to  have  inflamed  my 
passion.  Looking  back,  it  seems  to  me 
now  that  I  had  almost  forgotten  my  lost 
love  in  my  hatred  of  the  thief  who  had 
stolen  her  from  me.  It  is  no  exaggeration 
to  say  that  I  would  at  any  moment  cheer- 
fully have  given  my  life  in  order  to  be  able 
to  cry  quits  with  the  man  who  had  wronged 
me. 

You  will  smile,  perhaps,  as  you  read 
these  lines,  but  my  first  feeling  after  I  found 
myself  in  Paris  was  one  of  intense  home- 
sickness. The  strange  ways,  the  foreign 
faces  and  figures,  and,  above  all,  the  alto- 
gether unintelligible  jabbering  voices,  all 
combined  to  make  me  feel  like  an  outcast 
and  an  alien.  In  a  certain  sense  I  was 
both,  but  still  I  had  gone  of  my  own  free 
will,  in  pursuit  of  my  own  interests  entirely. 
I  was  free  to  leave  it  if  I  chose,  at  my  own 
time  and  in  my  own  way,  and  yet  I  was 
possessed  of  a  feeling  as  if  a  vice  of  iron 
had  caught  me,  and  I  was  powerless  to 
struggle  against  its  merciless  grip. 

I  found  it  more  difficult  than  I  expected 
to  make  my  way  into  society.  I  had  confi- 
60 


A  Marked  Man 

dently  anticipated  that,  with  my  introduc- 
tions, I  should  find  all  Paris  open  to  me, 
as  I  should  have  found  all  London — but  it 
was  not  so. 

I  could  have  had  all  the  English  society 
to  be  found  in  Paris,  if  not  exactly  at  my 
feet,  certainly  at  my  service,  but  I  very 
soon  found  that  the  De  Lancy  family — that 
is  to  say,  Comte  de  Lancy's  mother  and 
sisters — did  not  go  very  much  into  the  Eng- 
lish society,  but  almost  entirely  confined 
themselves  to  intercourse  with  French 
people. 

At  that  time  we  English  were  none  too 
popular  with  Parisians,  and  many  host- 
esses were  averse  to  receiving  Englishmen. 
Those  who  did  receive  me  could  not  under- 
stand me,  nor  I  them,  and  before  I  had 
been  in  Paris  six  weeks  I  was  forced  to 
the  unpleasant  conclusion  that  before  I 
could  hope  to  meet  De  Lancy  on  terms  of 
complete  equality  I  must  make  myself 
familiar  with  his  detestable  language  ! 

Not  that  I  was  in  the  least  turned  from 
my  purpose.  I  might  have  to  wait  for 
years  ;  for  although  I  was  in  Paris,  his  own 
61 


Grip 

capital,  yet  I  did  not  meet  him.  It  was  as 
if  he  was  hedged  about  with  all  manner  of 
sheltering  circumstances  ;  it  was  almost  as 
if  he  knew  of  my  intention,  and  was  keep- 
ing purposely  out  of  my  way. 

But,  mind  you,  De  Lancy  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  no  coward.  He  had  also 
the  name  of  being  one  of  the  best  swords- 
men in  France,  and  of  having  killed  his 
man  several  times.  It  was  this  reputa- 
tion which  made  me  so  eager  to  meet  him 
on  strictly  equal  terms,  to  meet  him  in 
his  own  world  ;  and  then — then — well,  time 
would  decide  the  rest  for  both  of  us, 

I  set  myself  a-studying  the  French  lan- 
guage, and  much  as  I  hated  it  and  despised 
and  loathed  its  twists  and  turns,  I  kept 
doggedly  at  it,  having  always  my  end  in 
view.  I  put  myself  also  under  the  finest 
fencing-master  in  all  Paris,  one  M.  Brisso, 
who  put  me  up  to  every  trick  of  the  game, 
and,  moreover,  complimented  me  not  sel- 
dom on  my  strength  and  skill.  I  worked 
as  hard  at  fencing  as  I  did  at  French, 
and  with  more  zest.  The  acquisition  of 
French  was  only  a  means  to  an  end  :  the 
62 


A  Marked  Man 

study  of  fencing  was  almost  the  end 
itself. 

Another  month  went  by.  Every  time 
that  I  went  into  the  fencing-school  I 
came  out  the  more  perfected  in  the  art, 
but  even  though  I  was  taking  a  lesson 
every  day  and  writing  exercises,  and  learn- 
ing phrases  like  a  schoolboy,  I  scarce 
made  any  progress  in  the  language,  and  the 
babel  of  voices  around  me  was  as  undis- 
tinguishable  as  it  had  been  on  my  arrival 
in  Paris. 

So  another  month  went  by,  and  yet 
another.  I  could  speak  a  few  phrases, 
such  as  would  ask  for  the  bare  necessaries 
of  life,  and  I  had  learned  to  clap  my  heels 
together  and  bend  myself  double  on  oc- 
casion as  I  noticed  the  Frenchmen  did,  but 
I  seemed  to  be  little  or  no  nearer  to  my 
object. 

I  did  ask  one  or  two  Englishmen  whose 
acquaintance  I  made  if  they  knew  De 
Lancy,  but  it  so  happened  that  none  of 
them  were  personally  acquainted  with  him, 
though  each  knew  him  by  reputation. 
Then,  at  last,  I  heard  the  news  by  a  side 

63 


Grip 

wind  that  he  was  in  the  south  somewhere, 
delayed  by  the  illness  of  his  wife,  who  was 
suffering  from  some  kind  of  fever,  but  that 
the  lady  was  better,  and  that  they  would 
presently  be  at  the  hotel  in  Paris  which 
he  had  but  lately  bought — with  his  wife's 
dower,  I  have  no  doubt. 

Oh,  well,  there  was  no  hurry.  Every 
day  I  was  picking  up  more  of  his  language, 
and  every  lesson  that  I  took  in  the  school 
of  M.  Brisso  so  served  to  make  me  a  more 
dangerous  antagonist.  And  then  some- 
thing happened  to  me  which  made  a 
difference. 

I  was  sitting  one  day  at  dinner  in  the 
cafe'  at  which  I  took  most  of  my  meals, 
when  I  noticed  three  ruffianly-looking 
fellows  sitting  hard  by,  all  jabbering  one 
against  another  as  if  they  were  at  a  talking- 
match  and  he  that  could  talk  down  the 
others  would  win.  I  paid  but  little  heed 
to  them,  for  gentry  of  that  kind  had  but 
small  value  for  me,  and  these  were  espe- 
cially unsavory,  both  in  looks  and  man- 
ners. 

They  were  not  a  little  interested   in  me, 

64 


A  Marked  Man 

for  I  saw  first  one  and  then  another  steal 
furtive  glances  at  me,  and  at  length  one 
of  them  rose  from  the  table  and  ap- 
proached me.  "  Sir,"  he  said,  "  you  are 
Engleesh  ;  could  you  oblige  me  with  the 
direction  of  Mistaire  John  Drummond  ?  " 

•'  I  am  sorry,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  that  I  do 
not  know  the  gentleman." 

"  He  lives  in  London,  somewhere " 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,"  I  said,  civilly. 
"  London  is  a  big  place,  and  I  do  not 
know  it  well." 

"  Pardon,  if  I  derange  you,"  said  he, 
fawningly.  Then  looked  hard  at  me  again. 
"  Pardon,  m'sieu,  but  have  I  the  honnaire 
to  address  Mistaire  Henri  Clare  ? 

"No  sir;  that  is  not  my  name,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"You  call  it  Clare  or  Clar— ck?"— he 
persisted. 

"  There  is  such  a  name  as  Clark  in  Eng- 
land," I  replied. 

"  Clar— ck  !  Ah,  yes.  Henri  Clar— ck," 
he  repeated. 

I  rose  from  my  seat — I  had  already 
paid  my  bill — and  took  my  gloves,  hat, 

65 


Grip 

and  cane.  "Good-night  to  you,  sir,"  I 
said,  rather  curtly. 

I  did  not  know  what  the  beggar  meant 
to  be  at,  but  I  knew  that  it  would  not  suit 
my  book  to  be  mixed  up  with  any  ruffians 
of  his  breed.  I  therefore  deemed  it  best 
to  cut  it  short  and  clear  out  of  the  place. 

I  walked  away  at  a  good  pace  down  the 
street,  but  had  barely  turned  the  corner 
when  I  heard  a  tramp  of  feet  behind  me 
and  felt  a  heavy  hand  clapped  on  my 
shoulder,  and  the  next  moment  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  poss<>  of  policemen. 


66 


In  The  Toils 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  THE  TOILS. 

WHEN  I  found  myself  surrounded 
by  French  policemen,  all  moved 
with  the  evident  intention  of  arresting 
me,  I  abandoned  myself  to  my  nat- 
ural instincts,  and  fought  like  a  bulldog 
for  my  liberty.  I  had  not  been  born 
in  Yorkshire,  and  of  a  good  old  York- 
shire stock,  for  nothing.  I  was  in  fine 
condition,  and  I  had  never  addled  my 
head  by  over-drinking.  I  laid  about  me 
with  my  fists — for  I  could  not  get  at  the 
pistol  which  I  always  carried  about  me — 
and,  in  a  trice,  four  Frenchmen  were 
sprawling  on  the  pavement  at  my  feet.  I 
fought  my  hardest ;  but  though  they  were 
at  least  twenty  to  one  they  had  not  the 
courage  to  fight  fair.  They  were  the  same 
stuff,  these  Frenchmen,  as  those  who  but  a 
few  years  before  had  driven  the  women, 

67 


Grip 

aye  and  the  little  children,  of  the  noblesse 
to  the  scaffold,  and  had  absolutely  wal- 
lowed in  the  lust  of  bloodshed.  I  knew 
enough  of  their  language  to  catch  a  mean- 
ing sometimes,  and  I  heard  the  sergeant  in 
charge  of  the  party  tell  one  of  the  men  at 
the  side  of  me  to  trip  me  up.  I  flung 
prudence  to  the  winds  and  turned  on  my 
fine  gentleman,  seizing  him  by  the  throat 
with  both  hands  and  fairly  cracking  his 
skull  against  the  wall.  He  had  not  so 
much  as  a  yell  left  in  him  when  I  let  him 
drop  to  the  ground,  but  I  then,  being  at  a 
disadvantage,  was  immediately  overpowered 
and  flung  helplessly  down.  It  was  no 
use  wasting  my  strength  in  further  useless 
strivings ;  they  had  got  the  better  of  me, 
the  brutes,  and  I  knew  that  I  should  only 
be  the  loser  by  not  submitting.  So  I,  in 
less  than  half  an  hour,  found  myself  lodged 
in  what  proved  afterwards  to  be  the  filthi- 
est hole  I  had  ever  seen — swarming  with 
vermin,  foul  in  smell,  dank  and  damp  as 
an  underground  cellar.  Herein  I  was 
thrust  without  light,  food,  or  water,  and  the 
door  was  bolted  and  barred  behind  me. 

68 


In  The  Toils 

Like  most  other  men  of  my  station,  I 
carried  a  little  tinder-box  in  my  pocket, 
and  I  managed  to  get  a  light  which  would 
show  me  what  manner  of  place  I  was  in. 
Furniture  there  was  none,  a  bundle  of 
damp-straw  in  one  corner  being  all  the 
provision  that  had  been  made  for  sleeping. 
I  went  over  to  it  and  sat  down,  then  my 
light  went  out,  and  I  knew  that  I  could 
do  nothing  more  beyond  waiting  till  morn- 
ing. 

I  was  a  little  stiff  from  my  tussle,  and 
my  dinner  having  been  a  highly  spiced 
one,  I  was  very  soon  raging  with  thirst. 
However,  there  was  no  help  for  that  save 
patience,  and  I  passed  the  night  as  best  I 
could :  and,  at  length,  the  sickly  winter 
dawn  began  to  steal  slowly  through  the 
bars  of  the  windows. 

I  do  not  know  to  this  day  what  prison  I 
was  in,  for  when  at  last  a  jailer  appeared, 
bringing  with  him  a  long  roll  of  bread 
and  a  jug  of  water,  I  found  that  he  only 
spoke  a  patois  of  which  not  one  word  in 
twenty  was  intelligible  to  me.  So,  though 
I  put  the  question  to  him  in  the  best 
69 


Grip 

French  that  I  could  muster,  I  both  failed 
to  understand  him  and  to  make  him 
understand  me. 

Later  in  the  morning  I  was  taken  before 
some  kind  of  court.  I  do  not  know  what 
court  it  was,  where  it  was  situated,  or  who 
were  my  judges.  I  was  told  chiefly  by 
signs  where  to  go,  and  certain  remarks 
were  read  out  to  me  in  a  sing-song  nasal 
voice  of  which  I  comprehended  the  mean- 
ing no  better  than  I  should  have  done  had 
they  been  spoken  in  Chinese.  All  that  I 
gathered  was  the  fact  that  I  was  supposed 
to  be  one  Henry  Clark,  who  was,  poor 
devil,  evidently  much  in  request  by  the 
Paris  police  at  that  moment.  I  protested 
vigorously  that  I  was  not  Henry  Clark, 
and  that  I  had  never  heard  of  any  such 
person,  though  I  recognized  the  name  as 
an  English  one. 

Upon  this  I  was  hustled  back  to  my  cell, 
and  later  on  my  dinner  was  brought  to  me, 
consisting  of  dark-looking  bread  and  sus- 
piciously pale  soup.  I  had  never  been 
over-much  given  to  eating  soup,  but  by  that 
time  I  was  hungry  enough  to  have  eaten 
70 


In  The  Toils 

anything,  so  I  made  the  best  meal  that  I 
could  under  the  circumstances. 

My  situation  did  not  much  trouble  me, 
for  I  knew  that  I  could  easily  disprove 
the  assertion  that  I  was  Henry  Clark, 
and  my  innocence  of  whatever  he  hap- 
pened to  be  suspected  of.  Then  it  sud- 
denly occurred  to  me  that  if  I  chanced  to 
have  hit  the  head  of  that  policeman  a 
trifle  too  hard  against  the  wall,  I  might  be 
let  in  for  a  few  years  of  exceedingly  un- 
pleasant life  on  that  account,  while,  in  the 
event  of  such  becoming  known,  all  idea  of 
ever  meeting  De  Lancy  on  equal  grounds 
would  be  at  an  end  forever.  On  equal 
grounds  ! — pooh  ;  on  grounds  of  any  sort. 
De  Lancy  was  an  aristocrat,  a  man  high 
up  in  the  diplomatic  world.  He  would 
not  meet  me  at  all,  and  he  would  be  per- 
fectly justified  in  his  refusal  to  do  so. 

I  had  little  or  no  hope  of  altogether  get- 
ting off  the  consequences  of  my  hothead- 
edness.  The  feeling  at  that  time  of  day 
all  over  France,  and  particularly  in  Paris, 
was  very  strong  against  the  English,  and 
not  without  good  reason.  I  had  killed,  or 


Grip 

half-killed  one  of  the  gens  de  police  while  in 
the  execution  of  his  duty,  and  whether  I 
was  Henry  Clark,  or  George  Somers,  or 
anybody  else,  I  was  scarcely  likely  to 
entirely  escape  the  consequences  of  my 
folly. 

I  remained  in  my  cell  for  several  days, 
being  fed  as  badly  as  I  well  could  be. 
Then  I  was  conducted  through  a  great 
many  long  passages  to  a  cell  of  a  rather 
better  description,  in  which  was  a  chair,  a 
pallet-bed,  and  a  wash-basin. 

Before  I  had  been  an  hour  in  occupa- 
tion of  this  new  quarters  I  had  a  visitor, 
a  small,  weazened,  meagre-looking  elderly 
man,  who  addressed  me  in  fluent  English 
but  of  indifferent  accent.  He  told  me  he 
was  a  permitted  interpreter  and  lawyer, 
and  asked  me  whether  I  would  like  to 
make  use  of  him  in  my  approaching  ex- 
amination. 

I  told  him  civilly  that  I  did  not  know 
that  I  was  soon  to  be  examined,  thanked 
him  for  his  intentions,  and  asked  him,  fair 
and  square,  what  he  would  be  able  to  do 
to  help  me  ? 

72 


In  The  Toils 

He  told  me  in  a  low  voice  that  I  was 
believed  to  be  Henry  Clark,  which  I 
promptly  and  indignantly  denied. 

"  You  'ave  your  papers  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  I  have,"  I  replied. 

"  You  can  make  your  identification  cer- 
tain ? "  he  said,  looking  at  me  with  his 
little  red-rimmed  eyes,  as  if  my  answer  was 
a  foregone  conclusion. 

"  I  can,  if  I  choose,"  I  replied. 

"  But  if  you  don't  choose — eh  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  I  said,  blunt- 

iy. 

"  It  is  very  easy,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a 
tone  of  quiet  conviction.  "  You  'ave  not 
shown  your  papers  ? " 

"  No ;  I  have  not  got  them  with  me. 
They  are  at  my  rooms." 

"Ah  !  "  The  single  word  spoke  volumes. 
"  And  you  do  not  wish  to  produce  them  ?  " 

"  I  don't  intend  to  produce  them." 

"  You  will  'ave  a  great  punishment  for 
cracking  the  'ead  of  the  unfortunate  Jean 
Duval,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"I  expect  I  shall.  I'll  put  up  with 
that." 

73 


Grip 

"  But  the  affair  of  this  Henri  Clark— that 
is  quite  another  mattaire — eh  ? " 

"  Well,  naturally,  I  find  my  own  sins 
quite  enough  to  answer  for,"  I  said,  trying 
to  laugh,  for,  somehow,  his  words  all  at 
once  seemed  to  bring  the  full  gravity  of  my 
situation  home  to  me. 

"Just  so.  And  you  would  give  some- 
thing for  papers  which  would  give  you 
identification — eh  ? " 

"  I  would  give  all  that  I  have,"  I  replied, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  And  you  'ave — eh  ? " 

I  pulled  out  my  purse  and  emptied  its 
contents  on  to  the  poor  table  before  us. 
My  new  friend  counted  the  money  over, 
and  put  it  up  together  into  a  little  packet 
in  one  of  the  notes.  "See  to  this,  my 
good  friend,"  he  said,  in  quiet  business- 
like tones.  "  I  'ave  the  honor  to  be  inter- 
preter in  the  courts.  I  always  do  business 
if  I  can  on  both  sides  when  it  comes  my 
way.  'Ere  are  papers — Charles  'Yde — all 
complete ;  but  stay,  'ave  you  told  your 
name  ? " 

"  No !     They  insisted  that  I  was  Henry 

74 


In  The  Toils 

Clark,  and  beyond  insisting  that  I  was  not 
I  have  not  committed  myself.  I  cannot 
understand  their  lingo — nor,  apparently, 
they  mine.  They  never  asked  me  what 
my  name  was,  or  if  they  did  I  did  not  un- 
derstand them." 

"  Good  !  Then  take  this  paper — it  is 
safe — Charles  'Yde  is  dead,  gone  to  his 
reward,  poor  devil.  Be  Charles  'Yde  from 
this  moment." 

I  took  the  paper  and  read  it  carefully. 
It  was  dated  but  a  few  days  later  than  my 
own  passport.  It  set  forth  that  Charles 
Hyde  was  twenty-five  years  of  age,  and 
was  a  gentleman  travelling  for  pleasure ! 
Poor  devil,  as  my  ferret-eyed  little  friend 
had  but  just  called  him — his  pleasuring 
had  soon  come  to  an  end.  I  had  not  the 
heart  to  inquire  how  ! 

I  pushed  the  little  packet  of  money  to- 
wards him  and  put  the  passport  into  my 
own  pocket-book.  "  Sir,"  I  said,  "  I  am 
more  obliged  to  you  than  words  can  say. 
Will  you  give  me  your  name  and  address 
that  I  may  repay  you  in  some  way  after  I 
am  free  of  this  place  ? " 

75 


Grip 

"This  is  my  name — Jules  Ferrand,"  he 
replied,  giving  me  a  card  bearing  his  name 
and  address. 

I  took  the  card  with  a  word  of  thanks 
and  put  it  in  my  pocket.  Then  I  asked  him 
if  he  thought  he  could  help  me  otherwise  ? 

"If  you  were  not  Engleesh,"  he  said, 
in  a  tone  which  carried  conviction  with 
it,  "  I  should  say  yes,  most  decidedly 
yes  ;  as  you  are  Engleesh  I  can  but  say 
that  I  am  afraid  you  will  'ave " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  I  said,  impatiently.  "  I 
must  abide  by  the  consequences  of  my  own 
folly.  Will  you  be  present  at  this  exami- 
nation ?  " 

"  But,  yes " 

"Then "  and  here  I  heard  the  key 

turn  in  the  lock,  "  you  will  do  what  you 
can  for  me  ? " 

"  I  will  make  it  clear  that  you  are  not 
1  Enri  Clark,' "  he  said,  with  a  leer  and 
a  wink,  which  all  at  once  revealed  to  me 
that  he  believed  that  I  really  was  the  un- 
fortunate man  for  whom  I  had  been  mis- 
taken. 

He  left  me,  passing  out  with  profuse 
76 


In  The  Toils 

salutations  to  the  exceedingly  morose  and 
unintelligible  jailer  who  took  care  of  me, 
and  once  more  I  was  left  alone. 

Well,  I  had  by  a  lucky  chance  fallen  in 
with  a  villain  who  thought  more  of  his  own 
pocket  than  he  did  of  his  national  prej- 
udices, and  my  identity  was  fairly  safe. 
Moreover,  as  Charles  Hyde  I  was  no 
longer  liable  for  the  sins  of  Henry  Clark, 
and  I  should  stand  a  better  chance  for  the 
skull-cracking  in  which  I  had  foolishly  in- 
dulged myself.  As  Charles  Hyde  I  might 
be  supposed  to  object  to  the  process  of 
arrest,  and  be  treated  more  lightly  for 
resisting  it !  Time  would  show. 

In  my  new  cell  I  had  the  immense  ad- 
vantage of  being  able  to  wash  myself,  and 
I  availed  myself  of  it  with  great  satisfac- 
tion. So  by  the  time  my  examination  came 
on  I  was  able  to  present  myself  with  a  fairly 
clean  and  respectable  appearance. 

Almost  the  first  person  that  I  saw  when 
I  got  into  the  court  was  my  new  friend,  M. 
Jules  Ferrand.  He  did  not  pay  much  at- 
tention to  me,  doing  indeed  no  more  than 
looking  my  way  once  or  twice  with  his  little 

77 


Grip 

red-rimmed  eyes.  But,  after  a  while,  when 
a  good  deal  of  gabbling  had  gone  on  be- 
tween the  various  officials — who  reminded 
me  more  of  a  crowd  of  dogs  fighting  over  a 
bone  than  anything  else — he  stood  up,  and, 
taking  his  questions  from  an  official,  who 
was,  I  imagine,  an  advocate,  addressed  me 
directly. 

"  Your  name  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Charles  Hyde,"  I  returned,  boldly. 

"  'Ave  you  papers  of  identification  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  have  a  passport." 

"  Produce  it,  if  you  please." 

I  took  out  my  pocket-book  and  handed 
the  passport  to  him. 

"  M.  le  President  wishes  to  know  why 
you  did  not  produce  this  before  ? " 

"  I  was  not  asked  for  it,  or  if  I  was,  I  did 
not  understand  the  question.  I  only  know 
a  few  words  of  French." 

"  What  brought  you  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  My  pleasure — and  a  desire  to  acquaint 
myself  thoroughly  with  the  French  lan- 
guage." 

"  You  understand  now  with  what  you  are 
charged  in  this  court  ? " 

78 


In  The  Toils 

"  Not  in  the  very  least." 

"  First  with  being  one  Henri  Clar-ck " 

"  I  am  not  Henry  Clark,"  I  thundered. 
"  I  don't  know  him,  never  saw  him,  never 
heard  of  him.  My  name  is  Hyde — Charles 
Hyde." 

After  a  lot  more  gabbling,  he  continued, 
"  The  charge  for  which  you  were  arrested 
— under  the  mistaken  impression  that  you 
were  one  and  the  same  person  as  Henri 
Clar-ck — is  withdrawn.  You  had  better 
thank  M.  le  President  for  his  clemency  in 
accepting  your  identification." 

I  could  not  for  the  very  life  and  soul  of 
me  see  that  I  had  anything  to  thank  M.  le 
President  for;  rather  ought  he  to  have 
apologized  to  me  for  his  myrmidons  having 
mistaken  me.  However,  I  was  not  so  anx- 
ious to  further  taste  the  pains  and  penal- 
ties of  a  French  prison  ;  so  I  promptly  made 
a  speech  of  thankfulness,  which  was,  I 
thought,  sufficiently  mealy-mouthed  to  sat- 
isfy even  the  dignified  old  gentleman  sitting 
in  the  place  of  honor  so  like  the  church- 
warden's pew  at  Somersley. 

"  M.  le  President  is  graciously  pleased  to 


Grip 

accept  your  expressions  of  gratitude,"  Jules 
Ferrand  continued  in  unctuous  accents. 
"  You  may  consider  your  identification  com- 
plete. Therefore  the  only  charge  against 
you  at  present  is  that  of  having  caused  the 
death  of  Jean  Duval,  one  of  the  gens  de 
police,  while  in  the  execution  of  his  duty. 
On  that  account  you  will  have  to  await  trial 
until  such  date  as  will  be  made  known  to 
you  later  on." 


Suspense 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SUSPENSE  ! 

I  WAS  thereupon  conducted  back  to  my 
cell  with  the  pleasant  prospect  of  stay- 
ing there  in  complete  ignorance  of  my  ulti- 
mate fate  for  an  indefinite  period.  Later 
in  the  day  Jules  Ferrand  again  came  to  see 
me. 

"  I  'ave  to  congratulate  you,"  he  said, 
cheerfully,  rubbing  his  hands  together. 

"  And  I  to  thank  you,  sir,"  I  replied,  very 
heartily,  and  I  held  out  my  hand  in  the 
English  fashion  towards  him. 

He  laid  his  hand  in  mine,  but  the  next 
moment  tore  it  away,  shaking  his  fingers 
and  uttering  short  yelps  of  pain  and  dismay. 
I  perceived  that  I  had  shaken  hands  a  bit 
too  hard,  and  hastened  to  apologize  for  my 
carelessness  with  all  penitence. 

"  I  am  so  sorry.  I  forgot  that  you  were 
not  an  Englishman ! "  I  exclaimed,  trying 
6  81 


Grip 

to  take  his  limp  fingers  to  make  certain  that 
I  had  not  really  crushed  them. 

"Man  Dieu  !  No  wonder  you  cracked 
the  skull  of  Jean  Duval,"  he  gasped,  still 
shaking  his  fingers  frantically,  and  then 
breathing  on  them,  as  if  a  sort  of  poultice 
of  warm  breath  would  be  beneficial  to  them. 
"  No — no — my  good  sir,  I  will  keep  my 
fingers  to  myself,  if  you  please." 

At  last,  however,  he  seemed  to  have  got 
over  the  accident,  and  was  then  able  to  give 
his  attention  to  my  unfortunate  situation. 

"  You  must  not  look  to  getting  off  alto- 
gether," he  said,  warningly. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  I  returned. 

"  If  you  were  not  Engleesh  it  would  be  easy. 
As  you  are  Engleesh,  you  must  expect,  bient 
the  results  of  national  prejudice  to  stand 
somewhat  against  you." 

"  All  right,"  said  I,  for  I  did  not  want 
to  enter  into  an  argument  as  to  national 
prejudice  with  this  little  rat  who,  after  all, 
if  his  nose  went  for  anything,  was  of  the 
French  race  only  by  adoption  ;  and  would, 
indeed,  like  his  fore-elder,  Esau,  have 
been  ready  to  sell  his  own  birthright  as  he 
82 


Suspense 

had  sold  someone  else's  passport,  for  a  con- 
sideration— otherwise  a  mess  of  pottage. 
"  How  long  will  they  keep  me  hanging  about 
here,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  Ah  ! 'ow  can  I  say  ?  But  you  can 

buy  things  for  yourself.  You  can  'ave 
your  repasts  sent  in  from  outside." 

"  If  I  pay  for  'em,  "  I  said.  "  Unfortu- 
nately, I  have  no  money  with  me." 

"  Could  I  get  you  some  ?  Can  you  trust 
me  ? "  he  began,  eagerly ;  but  I  cut  him 
short  at  once.  I  was  not  going  to  trust  the 
secret  of  my  identity  to  him.  Heaven  alone 
knew  what  he  might  not  make  of  it. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  I  said,  curtly — "  quite 
impossible.  I  can  promise  you  this,  on  the 
word  and  honor  of  an  English  gentleman  . . . 
if  I  get  free  of  this  business,  I  will  give  you 
one  hundred  pounds  in  cash  within  three 
days  of  my  release." 

His  little  red-rimmed  eyes  glistened,  but 
the  next  moment  a  shadow  fell  over  them 
and  he  shook  his  head.  "  I  fear  it  is  'ope- 
less,"  he  said,  dolefully.  "  I  do  my  best. 
I  'ate  to  'alf  serve  a  client.  I  do  my  best — 
but  I  doubt !  " 

83 


Grip 

He  left  me  then,  promising  to  return. 
The  next  day  he  came  back  again  offering 
to  lend  me  a  little  ready  money,  to  be  paid 
back  later  at  an  utterly  exorbitant  rate  of 
interest. 

I  declined  the  offer,  not  on  account  of 
the  interest — for  it  was  a  case  in  which 
money  was  well  worth  any  rate  of  interest 
— but,  as  I  explained  to  him,  because  I 
was  not  certain  that  I  should  ever  be  able 
to  pay  it  back  again. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  little  man,  with  an  air  of 
dignity  which  sat  strangely  on  him,  "  I  'ave 
already  done  you  good  service.  Is  it  that 
you  cannot  trust  me  ? " 

"  Not  at  all.  But  it  is  imperative  that  I 
disclose  my  own  name  to  no  one  at  present, 
or,  indeed,  while  connected  with  this  matter. 
If  I  could  do  that,  and  could  write  you  a 
cheque  on  my  bank,  it  would  be  easy.  But 
that  course  is  simply  impossible.  I  would 
rather  die  than  let  my  friends  either  in 
England  or  in  Paris  trace  me  to  this  place. 
If  I  get  away  clear  of  this  little  accident,  I 
will  keep  my  word  and  you  in  grateful  re- 
membrance all  my  life.  As  it  is,  I  prefer  to 
84 


Suspense 

remain  in  comparative  discomfort  rather 
than  to  upset  all  the  plans  of  my  life." 

He  left  me  then.  I  believe  he  was  firmly 
convinced  that  I  really  was  Henry  Clark, 
and  that  I  dared  not  draw  a  cheque  for 
fear  of  being  traced,  and  my  crimes — real 
or  suspected,  whichever  they  might  be — 
brought  home  to  me.  Well,  let  him  think 
so.  There  was  safety  to  my  schemes  in 
the  suspicion.  I  said  not  one  word  which 
might  dispel  the  impression. 

I  walked  up  and  down  the  narrow  confines 
of  my  cell  for  a  long  time  after  he  had  left 
me.  It  was  wretched  and  comfortless,  and 
the  food  was  worse,  but,  after  all,  what  real 
difference  did  mere  food  and  lodging  make 
to  me  in  comparison  with  the  great  revenge 
for  which  I  lived  ?  None  ! 

You  may  think  that,  placed  as  I  was  in  a 
situation  of  the  gravest  danger,  my  feeling 
towards  Comte  de  Lancy  and  Margaret 
would  have  faded  in  intensity.  My  life  was 
at  this  time  in  gravest  danger,  my  liberty 
was  gone  and  might  never  be  restored  again. 
I  was  caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap  and  was  at 
the  mercy  of  those  who  were  my  national 

85 


Grip 

and  most  bitter  enemies.  And  yet — yet — 
I  thought  of  it  all  with  comparative  indiffer- 
ence, and  if  my  feeling  towards  De  Lancy 
had  changed  at  all,  it  was  that  my  hatred 
had  flourished  in  the  shade  of  misfortune, 
and  my  hunger  and  thirst  for  the  equality 
of  complete  revenge  had  grown  from  a  weak- 
ling into  a  giant.  Was  I,  a  great  strong 
hulking  fellow,  with  the  constitution  of  an 
elephant  and  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich, 
who  had  spent  half  my  life  in  some  form 
of  training  or  other,  to  endanger  my  most 
cherished  schemes  and  desires  for  the  sake 
of  procuring  something  soft  to  lie  upon, 
for  the  sake  of  dainties  for  my  belly? 
Pooh !  At  the  thought  of  it  I  laughed 
aloud,  till  the  bare  walls  of  my  cell  echoed 
again. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  ere  any  fresh  break 
came  in  the  monotony  of  my  existence.  I 
had  no  change  of  any  kind,  excepting  that 
sometimes  I  was  allowed  to  go  out  into  a 
small  yard,  whose  walls  were  so  high  that 
it  seemed  like  looking  up  to  Heaven  out  of 
a  well.  I  could  hear  the  shouts  of  other 
prisoners,  but  could  not  distinguish  a  single 
86 


Suspense 

word  they  said,  only  that  they  seemed  to  be 
playing  at  some  game  and  quarrelling,  and 
certainly  swearing  above  the  ordinary. 
However,  I  made  the  best  of  my  scrap  of 
liberty,  and  walked  and  ran  as  regularly  as 
if  I  were  a  free  man,  and  half  a  dozen  times 
a  day  at  least  I  went  through  a  series  of 
exercises  such  as  I  knew  would  best  keep 
my  muscles  hard  and  my  nerve  in  tone. — 
No  matter  what  might  happen  in  the  im- 
mediate future,  I  did  not  want  to  meet  it 
feeling  flabby  and  unmanned. 

At  last  Jules  Ferrand  came  again  to  see 
me.  He  told  me  that  my  trial  was  fixed  at 
last  for  April  10  ;  that  he  would  do  his  best 
for  me,  but  that  I  was  to  be  prepared  for 
the  worst  which  might  happen. 

"  Do  you  mean  the  guillotine  ?"  I  asked, 
bluntly,  for  the  way  in  which  the  little  man 
wrapped  up  his  meaning  in  ambiguous 
phrases  irritated  me  not  a  little. 

"  No,  not  so  bad  as  that — or  I  'ope  not," 
he  replied.  "  But  you  will  probably  go  to 
the  Bagne — you  will  'ave  the  travaux  forch •, 
and  the  life  of  a  format  is  by  no  means  a 
joke." 

87 


Grip 

A  joke !  I  should  think  not.  Yet  not 
even  the  taste  I  had  already  had  of  prison 
deterred  me  from  my  purpose,  or  for  one 
moment  tempted  me  to  use  such  influence 
as  I  possessed  in  obtaining  any  mitigation 
of  the  punishment  which  probably  was  in 
store  for  me.  To  exert  that  influence  I 
should  have  to  expose  myself  to  the  chance 
of  De  Lancy's  refusing  to  meet  me — it  was 
a  risk  which  I  would  not  have  run  to  save 
myself  any  pain  or  discomfort  that  could 
possibly  befall  me. 

Jules  Ferrand  sounded  me  again  as  to 
the  chance  of  my  finding  money — "  There 
are  ways  of  slipping  bolts  and  unlocking 
doors,"  he  said,  knowingly;  but  I  reso- 
lutely shook  my  head. 

"You  mean  that  my  jailers  might  be 
bribed,"  I  said,  coldly.  "  I  daresay  they 
could,  and  if  escape  was  my  only  object 
we  might  try  it.  As  it  is,  it  is  necessary 
for  me  to  remain  in  Paris  after  I  am  free. 
In  my  own  name  nobody  will  suspect  me 
of  any  connection  with  Charles  Hyde.  If 
the  police  were  after  me  I  should  never 
know  an  easy  moment,  and  all  my  plans 


Suspense 

might  be  frustrated  just  at  the  moment 
when  all  was  going  according  to  my  best 
wishes.  Thank  you  very  much  for  the 
suggestion,  but  I  would  prefer  to  let  things 
take  their  natural  course." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  if  he 
thought  me  the  biggest  fool  he  had  ever 
met  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life.  Pos- 
sibly, as  his  knowledge  of  French  prison- 
life  was  more  extensive  than  mine — for  his 
way  of  making  a  living  was  such  as  would 
naturally  bring  him  very  much  in  contact 
with  those  whom  we  describe  as  "  in 
trouble  " — he  would  have  foregone  any  un- 
certain chance  of  revenge  and  have  thought 
only  of  his  own  precious  skin.  I,  however, 
was  made  of  different  stuff.  I  meant  to 
have  De  Lancy's  blood  sooner  or  later,  and 
I  had  not  been  nicknamed  "  The  Bulldog  " 
for  nothing,  I  had  not  been  born  in  York- 
shire for  nothing,  I  had  not  been  born  a 
Somers  of  Somersley  for  nothing ! 

There  was  good  in  the  little  Hebrew,  all 

the  same ;  he  was  not  entirely  wanting  in 

the  milk  of  human-kindness.     I  daresay  he 

looked  to  his  own  interests  first — most  of 

89 


Grip 

us  do — only  some  of  us  are  less  openly 
egotistical  in  doing  it  than  others.  He 
was,  I  do  think,  genuinely  anxious  to  see 
me  get  off  scot-free,  apart  from  any  advan- 
tage that  it  might  be  to  him  personally. 
That  morning  he  looked  me  up  and  down 
with  something  very  like  admiration  in  his 
little  red-rimmed  eyes.  "  You  are  a  fine 
fellow  to  go  to  the  JBagne"  he  said,  shak- 
ing his  head  ruefully.  "  Theforfats  have 
mostly  led  different  lives  to  yours." 

"  I  am  not  a  format  yet,"  I  returned,  try- 
ing to  speak  lightly  and  not  succeeding  so 
well  as  I  could  have  wished,  for  his  regret- 
ful tone  seemed  like  a  foreshadowing  of 
ill-luck. 

"  No — no — and  I  'ope  to  'ave  that  'un- 
dred  pounds  yet !  "  he  exclaimed,  clapping 
me  on  the  shoulder. 

I  hoped  so  too,  and  with  all  my  heart. 
Still  I  must  confess  that  I  thought  his 
chance  of  it  was  remarkably  slender.  I 
could  not  pretend  that  I  had  not  killed  the 
unfortunate  policeman,  while  in  the  execu- 
tion of  his  duty,  I  could  only  plead  that  the 
affair  was  an  accident,  inasmuch  as  I  had 
90 


Suspense 

no  intention  of  killing  him  and  no  desire 
to  do  so  ;  that  I  had  unfortunately  hap- 
pened, in  the  heat  of  an  undeserved  arrest, 
and  in  the  scrimmage  of  twenty  to  one,  to 
knock  his  head  a  little  harder  against  the 
wall  than  it  would  stand.  The  blame  of 
the  accident  really  lay  more  at  the  door  of 
Jean  Duval's  thinness  of  skull  than  of  any 
fault  of  mine.  I  felt  that  my  case  was 
good ;  the  only  thing  was  that,  being  an 
Englishman,  the  excuse  might  not  serve. 

At  last  the  day  of  my  trial  came.  I  had 
been  hoping  all  along  that  it  would  not 
attract  much  notice,  and  that  nobody  in 
court  would  recognize  me  as  the  big  Eng- 
lishman who  had  been  seen  about  Paris 
and  especially  at  Brisso's  fencing-school 
for  several  months  past. 

Thus  far  I  soon  perceived  that  I  was  in 
luck's  way.  I  scanned  the  court  eagerly, 
but  not  one  familiar  face  did  I  see.  There 
was  not  a  single  soul  that  I  knew. 

You  will  think  that  I  am  giving  but  a 
meagre  account  of  the  proceedings ;  but 
in  truth,  they  do  not  bear  much  upon  my 
story,  and,  although  of  necessity  I  was 

91 


Grip 

present  at  my  trial,  I  could  make  neither 
head  nor  tail  of  what  was  going  on.  Dur- 
ing the  weeks  which  I  had  spent  in  prison 
my  little  stock  of  French  had  all  gone  from 
me,  for  my  second  jailer  was  a  no  more 
amiable  person  than  the  first,  and  he  spoke 
an  entirely  different  dialect,  so  that  I  had 
found  communication  with  him  difficult, 
and  conversation  impossible.  The  lan- 
guage used  in  the  court  might  have  been, 
and  probably  was,  of  the  purest  Parisian 
French — it  was  as  Greek  to  me.  Greek 
did  I  say  ?  I  meant  Arabic. 

So  I  spent  several  hours  quite  in  the 
dark  as  to  what  was  going  on,  excepting 
when  my  friend  Ferrand  put  certain  ques- 
tions to  me,  which  I  answered  as  plainly 
and  simply  as  I  could.  He  made  a  kind 
of  speech  in  which  I  fancy  he  set  forth  the 
extenuating  circumstances  which  were  ad- 
missible, and  then  there  came  a  long  hor- 
rible blank  period  of  waiting  for  the  verdict. 


For  Love  of  Woman 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FOR   LOVE   OF   WOMAN. 

WHEN  the  moment  for  hearing  my 
doom  came,  the  President  of  the 
Court  distinctly  addressed  me.  "Charles 
Hyde  !  "  he  said. 

I  stood  upright,  in  an  attitude  of  re- 
spectful attention,  though  I  did  not  com- 
prehend one  word  of  what  he  was  saying. 
When  he  had  finished,  my  friend,  Jules 
Ferrand,  translated  his  words  into  Eng- 
lish. 

"  Charles  'Yde,"  he  said — "  you  -ave 
been  adjudged  guilty  of  the  death  of  the 
gens  de police,  Jean  Duval,  while  in  the  ex- 
ecution of  his  duty.  As  you  'ave  proved 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  court  that  you 
were  arrested  in  mistake  for  another  per- 
son, and  were  not  unnaturally  incensed 
thereat,  you  will  be  treated  with  an  extraor- 
dinary leniency,  and  it  is  to  be  'oped  that 

93 


Grip 

you  will  value  this  clemency  as  you  ought 
to  do.  The  court  awards  you  fifteen  years 
of  the  travaux  fords" 

Fifteen  years— -fifteen  years  !  My  God  ! 
what  a  slice  out  of  my  life  !  My  head  went 
reeling  round  and  round  for  a  minute  or 
two  and  a  thick  white  mist  came  in  front 
of  my  eyes,  that  I  thought  I  was  going  to 
swoon  away  like  a  woman  !  Fifteen  years 
— fifteen  years — it  was  like  contemplating 
eternity.  Then  a  gens  de  police  touched 
me  not  unkindly  on  the  arm  and  I  pulled 
myself  together  sufficiently  to  bow  to  the 
President  and  to  utter  a  rather  shaky 
"  Merci,  Monsieur." 

Then  I  went  back  the  same  way  as  I  had 
come,  yet  oh,  how  different  in  feeling  !  Fif- 
teen years  !  My  God  !  I  stumbled  on  to 
a  stone  bench,  and  hiding  my  face  in  my 
hands,  wished  wildly  that  I  had  foregone 
my  revenge,  that  I  had  exerted  my  influ- 
ence and  even  that  I  had  let  Ferrand  bribe 
my  jailers  into  letting  me  escape. 

Some  one  touched  me  on  the  shoulder. 
I  looked  up — it  was  Ferrand.  "  Well  ?  " 
I  said,  in  a  strange  hoarse  voice — the  voice 

94 


For  Love  of  Woman 

no  longer  of  a  Somers  of  Somersley,  but  of 
Charles  Hyde,  the  for  fat. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  simply.  "  I  did 
my  best.  I  failed  except  in  that  I  won 
some  mitigation.  Tell  me,  can  I  do  any- 
thing else  for  you  now  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  I  said,  wretchedly. 

"  I  can  take  no  message  to  your  friends  ? " 
he  persisted. 

"  I  have  no  friends  in  Paris,"  I  replied. 

"  Or  write  letters  to  your  relations  in 
England  ?  " 

"  No — many  thanks — I  would  not  have 
them  know  my  situation  for  the  whole 
world." 

"  There  is  no  lady ?  " 

"  None,"  I  replied,  fiercely,  and  with  a 
shudder.  "  You  have  done  your  best  for 
me,  sir,  and  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart. 
If  ever  I  am  free  I  will  seek  you  out  and 
thank  you  differently.  Until  then  I  will 
ask  you  to  forget  that  you  ever  knew  such 
a  one  as  myself.  If  I  should  be  inquired 
for,  described,  will  you  favor  me  by  giving 
those  who  ask  no  clue  to  my  whereabouts  ?  " 

"Certainly,    I    will   do   that,"    he   said, 

95 


Grip 

He  stood  looking  at  me  with  a  distressed 
face,  and  kept  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 
It  was  the  last  kind  touch  from  a  free  hand 
that  I  felt  for  years. 

"  Tell  me,"  I  said,  suddenly,  "  why  have 
I  been  kept  alone  all  these  weeks  ?  I  have 
heard,  when  I  have  been  exercising,  other 
prisoners  talking,  laughing,  swearing." 

"You  are  Engleesh,"  he  said,  looking  at 
me  doubtfully.  "  They  would  not  put  you 
with  the  others  ;  they  wished  to  keep  you 
safe  for  the  trial." 

I  burst  out  laughing  as  I  grasped  his 
meaning.  "  So,"  I  said,  bitterly,  "  and  now 
I  take  my  chance,  eh  ?  Ah,  well,  I'm  in  for 
a  spell  of  bad  luck,  but  I  am  not  done  with 
yet.  I  can  hold  my  own  even  in  a  gang  of 
formats"  And  then  it  came  into  my  mind 
again  that  I  had  not  been  called  "  the  Bull- 
dog "  for  nothing. 

It  seemed  as  if  they  were  still  a  little 
careful  of  me — I  suppose  they  wanted  to 
save  me  to  do  at  least  a  part  of  my  sen- 
tence. At  all  events  I  was  left  alone 
sitting  on  the  stone  bench  for  some  time 
after  Jules  Ferrand  had  left  me — left  to 
96 


For  Love  of  Woman 

think  it  all  over — to  try  to  realize  that  I 
was  a  convict  sentenced  to  spend  the  next 
fifteen  years  in  a  French  prison.  Fifteen 
years  !  God  above,  it  was  like  a  century ! 

And  Ferrand,  poor  little  chap,  had  asked 
me  if  he  could  take  any  message  for  me ;  if 
there  was  no  lady — a  lady,  my  God,  my 
God  1  Should  I  want  to  send  a  message  to 
the  woman  who  had  brought  me  to  this — 
the  woman  who  had  changed  my  whole  life, 
ruined  my  career,  blighted  my  existence, 
and  to  whom  I  directly  owed  my  present 
situation,  through  whom  I  found  myself 
like  a  caged  bird  with  clipped  wings  ?  A 
message  to  her — dear  Heaven,  no  ! 

And  yet,  as  I  thought  over  his  well-meant 
offer,  and  recalled  his  hesitating  words,  they 
seemed  to  make  a  man  of  me  once  more  ! 
True,  I  had  met  with  a  run  of  bad  luck — 
there  was  no  gainsaying  it.  But  must  I  sit 
down  and  let  Fate  do  with  me  what  she 
would?  Must  I  abandon  my  revenge 
because  I  had  been  checked  for  the 
moment  ?  Should  I  call  out,  "  There  is  a 
lion  in  the  way  "  ?  No  ;  a  thousand  times, 
no  !  If  I  had  six  months  ago  been  pos- 

7  97 


Grip 

sessed  of  hunger  and  thirst  for  revenge, 
how  much  more  so  now !  I  must  not, 
would  not,  let  this  unlooked-for  and  almost 
accidental  occurrence  turn  me  from  the 
great  object  of  my  life :  on  the  contrary,  I 
would  add  it  to  the  debt  already  accumu- 
lated, and  I  would  take  heart  of  grace  and 
patiently  await  the  day  on  which  I  should 
pay  it  in  full,  in  full — and  with  interest  / 

I  got  up  from  the  stone  bench  and 
stretched  myself.  I  was  a  new  man.  I  had 
almost  forgotten  the  wretchedness  of  a 
moment  agone.  Ill-luck  had  spread  her 
dark  wings  over  me — the  star  of  Desmond 
de  Lancy  was  in  the  ascendant,  but  I  would 
conquer,  I  would  win  through ;  let  the  life 
before  me,  the  indignity,  the  suffering  be 
what  they  might,  I  would  win  through.  I 
would  rise  up,  even  though  there  be  not  so 
much  as  a  day's  mitigation  of  my  sentence, 
and  one  day  I  would  meet  mine  enemy 
face  to  face ;  I  would  pay  my  debt,  and  in 
full! 

I  was  a  new  man  !  I  had  made  up  my 
mind.  Despondency  and  repining  should 
know  me  no  more.  If  I  was  called  Charles 
98 


Hyde,  I  would  still  be  in  my  heart  George 
Somers,  ex-ensign  of  the  Regent's,  known 
in  his  regiment  as  "  the  Bulldog." 

Dear  heart  alive !  I  had  need  of  all  my 
resolutions,  of  all  my  Yorkshire  pluck,  of 
all  my  endurance,  and  of  all  my  fortitude, 
for  from  that  day  I  entered  upon  a  life  that 
was  nothing  short  of  hell  upon  earth.  I  had 
been  born  to  no  bed  of  roses,  for  we 
Somerses  had  always  prided  ourselves  on 
our  hardness  ;  I  had  knocked  about  fairly 
well  for  my  years,  and  my  sympathies  had 
ever  been  with  the  king's  son  who  ate  of  a 
little  pulse  and  water ;  but  of  such  a  life  as 
I  led  after  the  President  of  the  Court  in 
which  I  met  my  fate  addressed  me  in 
solemn  words  which  I  could  not  under- 
stand, I  had  never  formed  any  conception. 
I  had  no  suspicion  that  any  such  hell  was 
to  be  found  in  all  the  length  and  breadth 
of  Europe ! 

I  found  that  the  next  sortie  of  formats  was 
destined  for  the  Bagne  of  Toulon,  and  we 
waited  day  after  day  until  our  tale  should 
be  complete.  I  had  seen  the  last  of  my 
solitary  cell,  for  before  nightfall  they  came 

99 


Grip 

and  conducted  me  to  the  general  company 
of  the  condemned ! 

I  never  saw  such  a  crew — at  least,  I  had 
never  seen  such  a  crew  until  that  hour  ;  the 
like  were  my  daily  portion  from  that  time 
forward  !  I  was  received  with  a  howl  of 
derision,  I  imagine  because  my  clothes 
betrayed  me  as  a  man  of  class ;  and  when 
they  found  that  I  was  an  Englishman  they 
closed  in  around  me  with  the  evident 
intention  of  saving  the  State  any  further 
expense  on  my  behalf.  Bah  !  I  took  but 
little  truck  with  them.  I  let  fly  right  and 
left  with  my  fists,  and  when  one  fellow 
who  had  not  gone  sprawling  tried  a  quiet 
kick,  I  just  caught  him  by  the  ankle  and 
brought  him  down  sharp  on  the  flat  of  his 
back,  so  that  I  fancy  he  saw  stars  for  some 
little  time  afterwards ;  at  all  events,  he  did 
not  see  his  way  clear  to  tackling  me  again. 

They  were  a  set  of  miserable,  craven 
wretches,  ill-fed,  ill-grown,  ignorant  of  all 
save  vice,  without  a  ha'porth  of  pluck 
among  them  all.  So  far  as  I  could  gather 
from  their  jargon,  when  they  found  that  I 
was  not  a  weakling  like  themselves,  they 
100 


For  Love  of  Woman 

somewhat  glorified  me.  I  believe  they 
would  even  have  cheered  me  if  they  had 
known  how.  As  it  was,  they  had  only 
enough  spirit  to  emit  a  yowl  like  a  few  half- 
strangled  cats  out  on  the  tiles  on  a  wet  night. 
Finding  that  I  was  to  be  left  alone,  even 
in  a  sense  to  be  set  on  a  pedestal,  I  sat  me 
down  on  a  vacant  bench  and  surveyed  my 
surroundings.  I  need  not  describe  them — 
the  men  who  were  my  companions  in  mis- 
fortune. It  is  enough  to  say  that  they  were 
the  riff-raff  of  the  wickedest  city  in  the 
world,  and  that  they  carried  their  social 
status  clearly  stamped  upon  their  evil  faces 
and  plainly  written  in  their  filthy  ways. 
There  were  only  three  in  all  that  motley 
crowd  who  looked  at  all  as  if  they  had  ever 
filled  a  respectable  position  in  life :  one  was 
a  burly  middle-aged  man  in  a  blue  blouse ; 
another  a  decent-looking  elderly  man  wear- 
ing a  black  coat ;  and  the  third  was  a  mere 
boy,  small  and  slight  and  fair,  who  sat  at  the 
other  end  of  my  bench,  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands.  I 
found  out  afterwards  that  he  was  a  young 
clerk  who  had  yielded  to  sudden  temptation 


Grip 

and  had  helped  himself  to  his  employer's 
money.  His  term  of  the  travaux  forces  was 
twenty  years !  Poor  lad,  I  watched  him  for 
a  while,  wondering  if  he  were  French  or 
English,  and  pitying  him  that  he  did  not 
pluck  up  a  little  instead  of  letting  such  a 
crew  of  mistrables  as  those  around  us  see 
plainly  the  full  bitterness  of  his  situation. 
Poor  lad  !  he  flung  himself  down  next  to  me 
when  we  stretched  ourselves  upon  the 
straw  which  was  all  our  bed,  and  presently 
I  heard  him  sobbing  passionately  under  his 
breath,  and  so  bitterly  that  after  listening 
for  some  little  time  I  rolled  a  little  nearer  to 
him,  and  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"  Young  'un,"  I  said,  in  a  low  voice,  for  I 
did  not  want  the  others  to  chime  in, 
"  young  'un,  can  you  speak  English  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  am  English,"  he  answered, 
choking  down  his  sobs  and  raising  his 
head  so  as  to  peer  at  me  in  the  dim  light. 

"  Gad  !  you  don't  say  so.  I  say,  young 
'un,  don't  take  it  so  to  heart;  time  soon 
passes,  and  you'll  get  used  to  it." 

"  Twenty  years  !  "  he  sighed ;  "  twenty 
years — it's  a  lifetime." 

J02 


For  Love  of  Woman 

I  was  almost  sorry  I  had  spoken.  "  So  it 
is,"  I  said.  I  was  obliged  to  say  something. 
"  But  still,  care  killed  a  cat.  After  all,  it 
mayn't  be  so  bad  as  you  expect  and, 
anyhow,  fretting  won't  help  you.  You're 
English,  you  say.  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"John  Leroy." 

"  Leroy !     It  sounds  almost  French." 

"  My  great-grandfather  was  French,"  he 
whispered.  "  I  always  call  myself  Jean 
Leroy  in  Paris — it  doesn't  do  to  be  English, 
you  know.  Besides  that,  my  mother  is  a 
Frenchwoman."  And  then  he  broke  down 
and  began  to  sob  again.  "  Oh,  my  mother, 
my  poor,  poor  mother!"  he  muttered, 
tearfully. 

"  Yes.  Well,  you  should  have  thought 
of  your  poor  mother  a  bit  earlier,"  I  said, 
for  I  had  little  or  no  sentimentality  about 
me.  "  See  here,  when  we  move  out  of  this 
try  and  keep  near  to  me,  as  near  as  you 
can.  If  they  guess  you  are  English  or  can 
even  speak  English,  they  will  keep  us  apart. 
Perhaps  I  can  help  you  on  a  little  one  way 
or  another." 

He  peered  at  me  again  through  the  dim 
103 


Grip 

light  cast  by  the  one  small  swinging  lamp 
overhead.  "  Have  you  ever  seen  a  gang  of 
formats  on  their  way  to  the  Bagne?"  he 
asked. 

"  Never,"  I  whispered  back. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  what  lies  before 
you.  Do  you  think  that  you  go  by  coach  ? 
Man  Dieu,  they  will  take  us  chained — 
chained  like  wild  beasts  all  through  the 
streets  of  Paris,  all  through  France,  past 
towns,  villages,  woods,  forests,  on — on — on 
— till  we  come  to — Hell  J" 

I  did  not  like  to  tell  the  poor  lad  that  he 
ought  to  have  thought  of  all  this  before. 
Instead,  I  said  to  him,  "  What  brought  you 
to  this  ? " 

He  confided  his  pitiful  story  to  me — a 
common  one  enough.  I  have  already  told 
you  its  main  features.  "  I  would  have  put 
the  money  back,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "  I 
only  borrowed  it — I  never  meant  to  steal  it. 
I  did  not,  indeed." 

"  No,  no ;  of  course  not.     But,  you  see, 

that's   the  brutal   way  the   world  looks   at 

it.     Any  way,  it  is  no  use  bemoaning  your 

hard  fate   now.     Pluck   up — be   a   man — 

104 


For  Love  of  Woman 

make   up  your  mind  that    you  will  win 
through." 

I  think  he  was  comforted,  for  he  went 
to  sleep  with  his  hand  in  mine  ;  and  I — 
well,  perhaps  you  will  smile  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  felt  as  if  I  had  found  something  to 
live  for.  I  mean  something  more  tangible, 
more  real,  than  the  deadly  feverished  future 
which  possessed  me.  For  a  long  time  I  lay 
wide  awake  in  the  straw  holding  the  lad's 
hand,  and  thinking  how  strange  it  was  that 
the  love  of  Margaret  Eden  should  have 
brought  me  to  this ! 


Grip 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE      UNEXPECTED. 

I  DON'T  know  that  anything  which  hap- 
pened after  my  foregathering  with 
young  Jean  Leroy  served  so  thoroughly 
to  bring  home  my  situation  to  me  with 
full  horror  as  did  that  first  night  passed 
in  the  straw  of  the  general  cell  to  which 
I  was  introduced  a  few  hours  after  I  had 
received  my  sentence.  It  was  a  wholly 
new  experience  to  me  and  a  horrible  one. 
The  close  and  foetid  smell  of  the  place, 
the  groans,  the  moans,  the  snores  and 
the  sobs  of  the  occupants  intermingled  with 
fierce  oaths  and  scraps  of  ribald  song,  all 
revolted  and  sickened  me.  On  my  word  I 
do  not  know  which  I  despised  and  loathed 
the  most — the  craven  hearts  of  those  who 
sobbed  with  terror  and  despair,  full  of  pen- 
itence that  they  had  heen  found  out,  or  the 
bold  and  evil  natures  of  those  who  made 
the  best  of  a  run  of  bad  luck,  with  a  devil- 
loo 


The  Unexpected 

may-care  spirit  which  would  send  them  out 
into  the  world  again  by  and  by,  more  wicked 
and  more  ready  for  all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  crime  than  ever. 

We  had  a  fortnight  more  of  this  life  before 
we  began  the  long  tramp  to  Toulon,  a  fort- 
night which  seemed  like  a  year  of  never- 
ending  days  which  dragged  slowly  along  in 
continuous  ribaldry  and  din.  For  the  noise 
was  unceasing  ;  it  continued  day  and  night, 
and  though  I  slept  at  times  from  sheer 
weariness,  if  ever  I  awoke  there  was  always 
at  least  one  group  awake  and  alert,  singing, 
gaming,  or  quarrelling,  and  sometimes 
doing  all  three.  I  think  if  I  had  fallen  on 
these  evil  days  straight  from  my  life  with 
the  Regent's  where  one  never  knew  much 
of  the  pleasures  of  quietness,  or,  even  di- 
rect from  a  long  stay  at  Somersley,  where 
there  was  always  the  racket  of  a  large  family 
much  given  to  all  manner  of  sport  and  of 
rollicking  fun,  that  I  should  not  have  felt 
it  so  much.  But  I  had  been  kept  for  many 
weeks  in  solitary  confinement,  without  a 
soul  with  whom  I  could  exchange  an  intel- 
ligible word,  with  never  a  sound  from  the 
107 


Grip 

outside  world  to  pierce  the  walls  of  my  cell. 
And  before  that  I  had  lived  almost  alone 
for  several  months,  ef  necessity  spending 
many  hours  a  day  studying  a  foreign  lan- 
guage, and  usually  eating  all  my  meals  at  a 
single  table  in  solitude  in  the  modest  and 
respectable  restaurant  which  I  frequented, 
so  the  exchange  was  doubly  terrible  to  me. 
I  believe  that  most  of  our  fellow-prisoners 
would  have  been  perfectly  content  to  re- 
main in  that  loathly  atmosphere  forever. 
For  my  part  I  almost  jumped  for  joy  when 
the  order  came  to  prepare  for  the  march. 
To  each  and  all  of  the  others  it  was  as  the 
announcement  of  doom,  and  those  who  had 
seemed  the  most  devil-may-care  and  reck- 
less began  to  shrink  into  themselves,  and 
to  shed  all  the  cocksure  airs  in  which  they 
had  so  freely  indulged  before.  My  young 
friend,  Jean  Leroy,  began  to  cringe  and  cry 
weakly ;  but  his  dread  was  natural  enough. 
All,  or  at  least  I  should  say,  the  most  he 
feared  was  that  his  mother  and  sisters  would 
be  waiting  about  on  the  line  of  route  for 
the  chance  of  getting  a  last  look  at  him,  ere 
he  went  into  the  oblivion  of  twenty  years 
1 08 


The  Unexpected 

of  the  travaux  forces.  I  comforted  him  as 
best  I  could,  reminding  him  that  at  least  we 
should  be  able  to  breathe  the  free  breezes 
of  Heaven  instead  of  the  pestilential  and 
polluted  air  which  was  at  present  our  por- 
tion. 

"You  don't  know — you  don't  under- 
stand," he  almost  wailed  in  the  inten- 
sity of  his  despair,  "  the  shame,  the  humil- 
iation, the  torturing  fear  of  recognition ! 
We  shall  be  chained  like  wild  beasts  one 
to  another  in  a  string  half  a  mile  long.  To 
be  seen  by  one's  friend,  one's  mother,  one's 
s  we  eth  e  art ' ' 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  all  this  be- 
fore you  did  what  brought  you  here,  my 
boy,"  I  said  gruffly,  for  there  was  no  sense 
in  letting  him  rob  himself  of  such  small 
store  of  strength  as  he  possessed. 

"And  you  also,"  he  retorted.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  alluded  to 
my  position  as  being  equal  with  his  own. 
I  did  not  resent  it — he  was  too  weak  and 
womanish  for  that. 

"Well,"  I  said,  quietly,  "perhaps  if  I 
had  known  as  much  as  you  seem  to  do 
109 


Grip 

about  these  matters,  I  should  have  kept  my- 
self in  better  check  and  there  would  be  one 
policeman  more  to  bring  the  erring  to  ac- 
count. But  I,  at  least,  take  my  fate  with- 
out overmuch  repining,  and  in  a  spirit  of 
philosophy.  You  have  English  blood  in 
your  veins,  my  boy ;  try  to  show  it." 

It  was  useless  to  preach  to  him  ;  he  was 
a  weakling,  a  poor  feeble  soul,  without  the 
heart  of  a  mouse  in  that  delicate  girlish 
body  of  his.  He  flung  himself  down  in  the 
straw  beside  me,  mumbling  piteously  at  my 
hand.  "  Charley,  Charley,"  he  moaned, 
"don't  let  me  anger  you,  my  one  friend,  my 
one  stand-by,  my  salvation.  I'm  weak — 
weak — my  mother  spoiled  me 

"  Nay,"  I  broke  in,  "  never  let  yourself 
say  that,  lad.  The  fault  is  all  your  own — 
be  a  man  and  admit  it.  Never  cry  out 
upon  your  mother  that  she  was  too  loving. 
If  she  was  so,  she  has  suffered  enough  ere 
this." 

Poor  lad,  poor  lad !  It  was  a  frail  and 
pitiful  nature,  and  his  very  weakness  served 
to  make  me  more  strong.  I  shall  never 
forget  his  agonized  face  as  they  put  the 


The  Unexpected 

fatal  collar  upon  his  neck,  poor  lad  !  They 
put  him  just  in  front  of  me,  with  the  idea, 
I  knew,  that  my  great  height  would  prove 
further  pain  and  tribulation  for  both  of  us. 
I  let  them — I  made  no  effort  to  alter 
things.  We  were  badly  matched  without  a 
doubt,  but  I  knew  that  I  could  spare  the 
lad  a  great  deal  if  I  were  near  him,  far 
more  than  my  greater  height  would  inflict 
upon  him  as  we  marched. 

I  proved  the  truth  of  this  the  very  first 
day,  for  iheforfaf  immediately  in  front  of 
Leroy  was  an  old  hand  who  was  making 
the  journey  for  the  third  time.  I  found 
within  a  couple  of  hours  that  the  lad's  neck 
was  beginning  to  raw — and,  but  think  of  it, 
we  had  weeks  of  marching  before  us — so  I 
signified  by  his  mouth  that  if  his  neighbor 
continued  to  twitch  the  chain  as  he  was 
doing  then,  I  would  find  a  way  to  make  it 
worse  for  him.  My  threat  had  the  desired 
effect. 

And  yet  it  was  a  horrible  journey,  full  of 
pain,  fatigue,  terror,  humiliation,  and  dis- 
tress. From  the  moment  of  leaving  the 
gates  of  our  prison  we  became  intimately 
in 


Grip 

acquainted,  in  all  their  most  hideous 
forms,  with  terrors  by  night,  with  the  arrows 
of  abuse  and  shame  that  flew  by  day,  with 
the  pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness,  and 
the  sickness  that  destroyeth  in  the  noon- 
day. Long  before  we  had  done  the  half  of 
our  journey  the  old  hand,  who  marched 
immediately  in  front  of  Jean  Leroy,  fell, 
and  was  released  from  the  chain.  A  guard 
remained  in  charge  of  him,  but  whether  he 
lived  or  died  I  cannot  say — I  never  knew. 
Anyway,  I  never  saw  him  again.  He  never 
came  to  Toulon,  so  I  conclude  that  his  end 
was  that  of  a  nameless  grave  in  the  peace- 
ful little  village,  just  then  white  with  cherry 
blossoms,  near  to  which  he  fell. 

We  had  left  Paris  in  late  April,  when  all 
the  country  was  looking  its  best  and  fairest. 
At  first,  when  I  used  to  lie  awake  in  the 
straw,  which  was  all  the  bed  we  had  in  the 
sheds  wherein  we  lay  at  night,  and  heard 
in  the  early  dawn  the  little  birds  outside 
cheeping  and  twittering  in  their  free  and 
happy  enjoyment  of  the  dawning  day,  I 
used  to  think  of  dear,  far-away  Somersley, 
and  wonder  if  I  should  ever  see  the  cherry 
112 


The  Unexpected 

orchards  there  again  ?  But  that  stage  did 
not  last  long.  Every  day  that  passed  made 
me  more  and  more  ready  when  the  night 
came  to  fling  myself  down  and  sleep  like 
a  log,  and  made  me  sleep  longer  and  longer 
in  the  morning  till  at  last  I  scarcely  heard 
the  whistle  of  the  warder,  which  was  the 
signal  for  us  to  start  on  our  weary  way 
again. 

I  believe,  but  for  his  dread  of  being  parted 
from  me,  that  Jean  Leroy  would  have  fallen 
by  the  way  more  than  once.  As  it  was  I 
encouraged  and  helped  him  all  I  knew  and 
all  that  I  was  able,  and  so  enabled  him  to 
keep  going  all  through  that  dreary  march, 
until  we  at  last  passed  under  the  great 
gates  and  within  the  walls  of  the  Bagne  at 
Toulon. 

"  I  shall  never  come  out  of  this  place 
alive,"  Jean  Leroy  murmured  to  me  as  we 
paused  in  the  great  court-yard  for  direc- 
tions. 

"  Nonsense,  lad.  Pluck  up  your  heart," 
I  said  as  cheerily  as  I  could.  "  Perhaps 
you'll  get  sent  to  hospital  for  a  bit." 

He  turned  his  haggard  tear-stained,  sun- 
8  113 


Grip 

dried  young  face  upon  me.  "  Charley,"  he 
said,  in  a  nervous  whisper,  "I  want  to  keep 
close  to  you.  I  daren't  give  way  and  be  ill. 
If  we  are  near  to  each  other,  you  so  big  and 
I  so  small,  they  will  chain  us  together  in 
the  hope  that  you  will  kill  me  and  that  then 
they  will  guillotine  you." 

I  laughed  aloud. 

"  Nonsense.  They  want  to  get  work  out 
of  us.  Killing  us  would  be  a  mistake." 

"  Do  they  ?  "  he  whispered,  significantly. 

I  found  out  afterwards  that  he  was  not 
far  wrong.  However,  his  terror  made  him 
desperate  and  the  strength  of  his  despair 
kept  him  from  giving  way  and  breaking 
down.  So,  by  great  good  luck — though  I 
could  see  plainly  enough  by  the  faces  of 
those  in  charge  of  us  that  it  was  meant 
brutally — we  were  coupled  together. 

Need  I  tell  you  what  followed  ?  Yes,  but 
not  in  detail — oh,  not  in  detail !  I  would 
myself  forget  it  if  I  could.  I  would  rather 
that  those  who  love  me  should  never  know 
the  full  extent  of  the  humiliation  and  deg- 
radation through  which  I  went. 

The  first  weeks  were  the  worst — of  ne- 
114 


The  Unexpected 

cessity  !  After  a  time  the  stronger  ones  got 
used  to  it  and  the  weakly  ones  succumbed 
to  the  hardships  of  an  existence  which  was 
worse  than  any  hell  that  ever  I  heard  of. 
At  least,  if  the  hell  taught  by  the  Churches 
be  true,  the  condemned  must  have  eternal 
strength  given  them  to  bear  eternal  punish- 
ment. In  the  hell  which  is  called  the 
Bagne  of  Toulon  the  torture  was  absolutely 
incommensurate  with  the  physical  strength 
of  the  tortured. 

The  poor  lad,  Leroy  did  not  hold  out 
against  it  long.  He  did  his  best,  and  I  did 
mine  to  shield  him  from  the  consequences 
of  his  lack  of  strength  and  sheer  inability 
to  cope  with  the  tasks  which  were  allotted 
to  him.  I  worked  all  the  time  for  two, 
worked  until  my  muscles  grew  like  knotted 
ropes,  until  I  ached  as  if  I  had  been  beaten 
all  over,  until  when  I  was  not  wet  through 
with  dew  or  mist  I  was  bathed  in  sweat. 
But  it  was  all  to  no  good.  He  was  broken 
in  nerve  and  feeble  in  frame — I  did  all  the 
work,  and  he  could  not  even  keep  pace 
with  me.  Our  guards  called  him  stupid  and 
a  skulker,  and  they  flogged  him  even  when 

"5 


Grip 

they  must  have  known  he  was  dying.  And 
I  had  to  stand  by  and  see  and  hear,  power- 
less to  save  him  a  single  stripe.  My  God, 
will  there  be  any  hell  hereafter  which  will 
equal  in  terror  and  brutality  that  which  was 
devised  by  human  beings  like  ourselves  ?  I 
I  think  not — I  hope  not ! 

As  I  said,  he  did  not  last  long  !  Before 
the  colder  blasts  of  winter  had  set  in,  he  was 
released  from  the  chain  and  taken  to  hos- 
pital. I  was  allowed  to  see  him  before  the 
end  came,  as  he  wished  to  charge  me  with 
a  message  to  his  mother,  and  I  had  also 
permission  to  write  a  letter  to  her  for  him, 
he  being  too  far  gone  to  hold  a  pen.  It 
was  a  dreadful  interview,  and  I  thanked 
God  when  all  was  over  and  I  saw  the  poor, 
haggard  face  set  in  that  peace  which  could 
never  be  broken.  He  was  so  young,  so 
weak,  so  frail !  Perhaps  his  mother  had  not 
been  judicious  with  him,  as  he  had  said — if 
so,  it  was  he  who  bore  the  brunt,  poor  lad. 

I  was  free  of  a  chain-comrade  for  a  few 

days,   for  there  was  no  one  available  to 

couple  me  to.     It  was  a  relief  to  be  free, 

even  though  I  missed  my  poor  lad  so  badly. 

116 


The  Unexpected 

Not  that  I  grudged  him  his  rest — oh,  no ; 
it  was  better  for  him  that  he  should  have 
finished  with  it  all  and  be  at  rest.  He  had 
no  hope,  no  future,  nothing  to  live  for  as 
I  had. 

My  next  comrade  was  a  person  of  quite 
another  kidney.  His  name,  Anton  La 
Roque  ;  his  crime,  robbery  with  violence ; 
his  sentence,  sixteen  years;  and  his  dis- 
position that  of  the  most  unmitigated 
blackguard  who  had  ever  fallen  under  my 
notice.  How  many  times  in  the  next  year 
did  I  sigh  for  the  poor  lad  whose  worst  fail- 
ing had  been  his  overwhelming  weakness, 
who,  with  all  his  faults  and  his  one  crime, 
was  an  angel  of  light  compared  with  the 
black  devil  called  Anton  la  Roque. 

He  was  not  new  to  the  Bagne  :  this  was 
his  second  term,  the  first  having  been  a 
comparatively  short  one.  He  was  a  de- 
termined skulker ;  he  would  have  led  me  the 
life  of  a  dog  if  I  had  not  been  physically  so 
much  more  than  a  match  for  him.  As  it 
was,  though  I  had  taken  double  my  share 
for  the  sake  of  a  dying  lad,  I  made  La 
Roque  do  his  full  whack,  and  this,  perhaps 
117 


Grip 

not  unnaturally,  made  ill-blood  between  us. 
Still,  I  was  so  strong  and  I  had  such  a  fierce 
vindictive  overpowering  incentive  to  win 
through  without  a  single  misdemeanor, 
that  when  it  came  to  a  tussle  he  always 
got  the  worst  of  it.  At  last,  however,  he 
brought  matters  to  an  end,  for  I  caught  him 
one  night  filing  stealthily  at  his  fetters,  and 
on  my  telling  him  that  I  would  call  the  guard 
if  he  did  not  desist — for  I  had  no  desire  to 
find  myself  a  marked  man  or  to  have  a  taste 
of  the  bastonnade — he  turned  savagely  on 
me  and  attempted  to  brain  me  with  his  file. 
Of  course  there  was  an  outcry,  for  I  closed 
with  him  and  wrenched  the  file  from  him, 
and  when  the  guard  came  hurrying  up, 
gathering  the  main  points  of  what  had 
happened  from  the  formats  around,  he  com- 
pleted the  uproar  by  striking  the  officer  full 
in  the  face. 

What  need  to  tell  the  rest  ?  He  went  to 
the  guillotine  and  I  was  commended  :  and 
what  was  more  important  to  me,  I  was  free 
of  a  chain-comrade  until  a  new  gang  of 
formats  should  arrive  from  various  parts  of 
the  country  a  week  or  ten  days  later. 
118 


The  Unexpected 

I  thought  little  enough  about  La  Roque 
after  I  had  seen  him  pass  to  the  guillotine. 
What  was  one  villain  more  or  less  in  the 
world  ?  But  I  did  think  a  good  deal  of 
what  a  lucky  chance  it  had  been  that  I  had 
not  been  implicated  in  his  endeavor  to 
escape  !  How  lucky  that  the  formats  around 
had  told  the  truth,  for  the  old  adage, 
"  Honor  among  thieves,"  by  no  means  held 
good  in  the  Bagne.  I  wondered  not  a  little 
eagerly  what  manner  of  man  my  next 
comrade  would  be,  for  one's  comrade  made 
all  the  difference  between  hell  and  compara- 
tive Heaven. 

At  last  the  new  gang  arrived,  weary,  foot- 
sore, unkempt,  ill-conditioned,  weather- 
stained,  yet  bringing  with  them  a  breath 
from  the  world — a  free  world  wherein  men 
came  and  went  as  they  chose  !  How  I 
longed  for  freedom,  how  my  soul  panted  to 
be  alone — quite  alone — none  but  myself  ever 
knew.  My  desire  was  only  equalled  by 
my  longing  to  be  revenged  on  the  man  who 
had  wronged  me,  on  the  woman  whose  false- 
ness had  brought  me  to  that  place. 

And  at  last  they  came — the  band  of  miser- 
119 


Grip 

ables,  who  had  yet  to  taste  the  most  bitter 
waters  of  adversity.  I  and  two  others  whose 
comrades  had  gone  were  brought  in  to  the 
court-yard,  where  the  smiths'  forge  was,  to 
await  our  turn  for  new  comrades. 

"  First  man — Charles  'Yde,"  called  the 
officer  in  charge.  I  stepped  forward. 
"  First  man's  name  ?  "  he  continued,  to  the 
officer  in  charge  of  the  new  arrivals. 

"  First  man's  name,"  was  the  reply  which 
fell  upon  my  astonished  ears  like  a  clap  of 
thunder — "  Desmond  de  Lancy  /" 


120 


Face  to  Face 


CHAPTER  X. 

FACE    TO     FACE. 

WHEN  I  heard  the  name  of  Desmond 
de  Lancy  as  that  of  my  future 
comrade  of  the  chain  I  almost  swooned 
away  in  the  intensity  of  my  excitement. 
So  at  last  I  understood  why  I  had  been 
deprived  of  my  liberty  and  brought  to  that 
hell  of  torture  and  despair.  After  all, 
Heaven  had  been  very  good  to  me,  and 
mine  enemy  was  delivered  into  my  hand.  I 
could  do  with  him  even  as  I  would — I  could 
draw  out  the  pains  and  penalties  of  revenge 
to  as  fine  a  nicety  as  I  chose. 

These  and  many  other  wild  and  exultant 
thoughts  rang  through  my  head,  together 
with  the  beating  of  great  drums,  the  rush- 
ing sound  of  many  waters,  the  ding-dong  of 
huge  bells  which  first  rang  loud  and  clear, 
and  then  seemed  to  fade  away  into  the  far 
distance  ;  and  when  at  last  the  sensation  of 

121 


Grip 

choking  began  to  leave  my  throat,  and  the 
thick  white  mist  to  clear  away  from  before 
my  eyes,  I  saw  that  they  had  got  De  Lancy 
down  upon  the  ground,  and  were  already 
preparing  for  the  accouplement,  which  would 
put  him  altogether  at  my  mercy. 

The  accouplement  was  a  humiliating  and 
extremely  unpleasant  process,  and  De  Lancy 
lay  helplessly  face  down  on  the  stones  of 
the  court-yard,  his  leg  the  while  being  held 
in  position  against  the  forge  by  the  format 
who  was  assistant  to  the  smith.  He  neither 
moved  nor  uttered  a  sound,  and  I  stood  by 
as  impassively  as  I  had  stood  by  to  see  the 
blackguard,  La  Roque,  flogged  ;  though,  of 
course,  it  would  not  have  been  of  the  very 
smallest  use  for  me  to  have  moved  a  finger 
or  spoken  a  single  word,  even  had  I  desired 
to  serve  him  ever  so.  As  it  was  I  stood  by 
and  saw — nothing  more ! 

It  happened  sometimes  that  the  smith 
was  none  too  careful,  the  prisoner  nervous, 
or  the  assistant  careless,  and  that  the  ac- 
couplement was  not  made  without  accident.  I 
did  not  know  to  which  of  the  three  causes 
one  could  attribute  the  contretemps  of  that 
122 


Face  to  Face 

day,  but  in  the  course  of  the  operation  there 
was  bungling  or,  maybe,  spite,  somewhere, 
and  the  result  was  that  De  Lancy  got  an 
ugly  rap  on  the  ankle  bone,  and  after  one 
groan  lay  motionless  and  fainting ! 

The  officer  in  charge  snarled  angrily  at 
the  smith,  and  struck  at  him  with  his  cane. 
But  nobody  troubled  to  examine  the  unfort- 
unate De  Lancy's  bruise,  and,  as  I  was  of 
necessity  idle  for  the  time,  and  as  the  place 
whereon  he  lay  was  required  for  the  next 
prisoner,  I  was  told  to  carry  him  to  one 
side  and  see  to  him.  It  was  the  first 
absolutely  congenial  task  which  had  been 
allotted  to  me  since  I  had  become  a 
format. 

I  carried  De  Lancy  to  the  side  of  the  great 
court-yard  where  there  was  a  well  at  which 
I  could  get  some  water,  and  I  set  him  care- 
fully down  while  I  drew  up  the  pail.  I  took 
a  good  look  at  him  before  I  tossed  some  of 
the  chill  water  over  his  face.  I  scanned 
his  features  carefully.  Yes ;  it  was  the 
same  De  Lancy,  my  enemy,  the  man  who 
had  robbed  me  of  my  heart's  darling,  whom 
I  had  never  seen  since  I  had  watched  him 
123 


Grip 

with  her  in  the  jeweler's  shop  in  the  Hay- 
market.  Yes,  yes — it  was  the  same,  but 
how  changed,  how  worn,  how  haggard  he 
was !  He  had  lost  all  the  handsome  looks 
which  had  won  the  heart  of  Margaret  Eden 
from  me,  and  was  now  thin  and  mean-look- 
ing to  a  degree.  I  looked  down  at  my  own 
strong  healthy  hands  and  compared  them 
with  his  that  were  sickly  white,  and  I 
wondered  how  Margaret  could  have  chosen 
him  of  the  two  of  us.  Well,  well,  it  was  no 
use  thinking  about  that — the  day  for  dwell- 
ing upon  Margaret  Eden  and  love  had  gone 
by  forever,  and  there  remained  for  me  no 
zest  or  interest  in  life  but  a  great  thirst  for 
revenge,  and  here  was  my  revenge  actually 
in  my  hand,  sent  by  Heaven  itself. 

I  dipped  my  hand  in  the  water  and 
sprinkled  his  face  freely.  "  Come,"  I  said, 
roughly,  for  why  should  I  leave  him  any 
longer  to  the  luxury  of  unconsciousness  ? 
"  Come,  wake  up,"  and  I  accompanied  the 
words  with  a  none  too  gentle  shake. 

With  a  sigh  and  a  shiver  he  came  back  to 
himself  again  and  stared  up  at  me ;  but  it 
was  with  the  gaze  of  a  complete  and  utter 
124 


Face  to  Face 

stranger.  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked,  in 
French. 

"  Your  comrade  of  the  chain,"  I  replied, 
in  English. 

He  raised  himself  on  his  elbows  and  re- 
garded me  with  a  curiosity  which  betrayed 
the  keenest  interest.  "  What,  an  English- 
man ?  "  he  exclaimed,  "  Yes,  you  look 
English !  I,  too,  am  half  English ;  my 
mother  was  of  your  country." 

I  almost  laughed  in  his  face  !  How  little 
he  guessed  that  I  knew  all  about  his 
mother  and  about  him,  too,  excepting  such 
as  had  happened  since  I  had  been  at 
Toulon. 

"  And — I — I — married  an  English  lady," 
he  went  on,  hesitating  a  little,  while  a  deep 
scarlet  flush  dyed  his  worn  face.  "  My — 

my  wife "  but  he  could  not  finish  the 

sentence,  but  hid  his  face  on  his  arm  as  he 
lay  on  the  ground  by  the  well  and  I  saw  his 
shoulders  heaving. 

"  Your  wife  is  living  ?  "  I  asked,  in  a  cold 
hard  voice,  for  when  I  had  last  heard  defi- 
nite news  of  Margaret — my  Margaret — she 
had  been  dangerously  ill. 

I25 


Grip 

"  Yes  ;  thank  God,  she  is  alive,"  he  an- 
swered, raising  his  head  again,  though  his 
eyes  were  wet.  Then  he  devoutly  crossed 
himself — the  ignorant  Papist  that  he  was — 
and  muttered  something  under  his  breath 
which  I  took  to  be  a  benediction.  "  I — I 
— feel  that  I  shall  never  see  her  again  in 
this  life." 

"  And  you  believe  in  another  ?  "  I  in- 
quired. 

"Why,  yes!  Do  not  you?"  he  replied, 
simply. 

"  I  doubt  if  any  one  believes  much  in 
anything  here,"  I  said  roughly.  "  Except 
that  there  is  a  hell,  and  that  we  have  got 
to  it  before  our  time." 

"  Ah  !  "  and  he  gave  a  sigh  as  if  he  had 
already  come  to  the  same  conclusion. 

"  What  brought  you  here  ?  "  I  asked.  I 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  well  and  he  was  still 
lying  where  I  had  first  put  him  propped  up 
against  it. 

He   shrugged  his    shoulders.     "  I  am  a 

political  prisoner,"  he  answered.     "  In  what 

my  crime  consists  it  would  be  hard  to  say. 

For  one  thing,  I  am  too  favorable  to  your 

126 


Face  to  Face 

nation  ;  for  another  I — I — objected  to  cer- 
tain attentions  being  shown  to  my  wife  by 
one  very  high  in  station." 

"  You  are  jealous  ? " 

"No — not  particularly.  My  wife,"  and 
again  he  crossed  himself,  "  is  very  young, 
and  she  is  very  beautiful." 

He  little  guessed  that  I  knew  even  better 
than  himself  exactly  what  was  his  wife's 
age,  and  that  I  had  watched  her  beauty  un- 
fold even  from  the  days  of  her  babyhood. 

"  She  is  entirely  devoted  to  me,"  he  con- 
tinued, and  then  his  voice  broke,  and  he 
hid  his  face  on  his  arm  again. 

I  ground  my  teeth  in  silent  rage,  and  he, 
choking  down  his  emotion,  looked  up  again. 
"  You  see,  she  is  so  young,"  he  said,  and 
he  spoke  as  if  he  was  yearning  to  talk 
things  over  with  somebody,  "  not  twenty 
yet." 

I  knew  Margaret's  age  to  a  nicety,  but  I 
kept  the  knowledge  to  myself.  "  What  is 
your  term  here  ? "  I  asked,  as  soon  as  I 
could  command  my  voice. 

"  Twelve  years — and  perpetual  banish- 
ment." 

127 


Grip 

"  So !  Ah,  well,  since  your  wife  is  so 
young,  she  will  doubtless  console  herself." 

"  Never  ! "  he  interrupted,  fiercely. 

"  Twelve  years  is  a  long  time  out  of  a 
woman's  life,  and  women — even  the  best  of 
them — are  fickle,"  I  persisted. 

"  My  wife  is  entirely  devoted  to  me,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  firm  conviction.  "  She 
will  exist  until  I  return.  She  will  meet  me 
in  Heaven  if  I  die  here.  And  besides  that 
— there  is  the  child." 

"Oh,  there  is  a  child?" 

"Yes;  our  little  son,  just  four  months 
old  when  I  left  her.  You  don't  know  my 
wife  ;  though  you  might  know  her,  being  a 
woman  of  your  own  country.  There  is  no 
fickleness  there.  I  would  stake  my  soul 
on  her  faith  and  honor." 

"  It  is  a  good  deal  to  stake  on  so  small  a 
thing,"  I  said,  carelessly.  "  You  think  that 
you  have  been  her  only  lover  so  far  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,"  he  broke  in,  passionately. 
"  No  man  but  myself  has  ever  crossed  her 
heart.  I  was  the  first,  as  I  shall  be  the 
last." 

So  the  jade  had  never  told  him  even  of 
128 


Face  to  Face 

my  existence.  She  had  fooled  him  into 
thinking  that  his  kisses  had  been  the  first 
ever  pressed  upon  her  lips,  his  eyes  the 
first  that  had  ever  looked  into  hers  with 
passion  of  love,  his  voice  the  only  one  that 
had  ever  whispered  those  fond  vows  to 
which  all  women  listen  sooner  or  later.  As 
she  had  deceived  me,  so  had  she  also 
deceived  him.  So  doubtless  she  would 
betray  him  before  long.  I  sat  on  the  edge 
of  the  well  and  eyed  him,  my  comrade  in 
misfortune,  doubly  my  comrade,  though  he 
did  not  know  it.  But  though  I  did  pity 
him  in  my  heart,  yet  no  thought  of  fore- 
going my  coming  revenge  ever  entered  into 
my  mind.  Another  moment  and  I  should 
have  disclosed  myself  to  him,  when  all  at 
once  I  was  struck  with  the  appalling  dif- 
ference between  us.  For  never  were  two 
men  more  unlike.  I  big,  strong,  ugly,  and 
godless — he  small,  slight,  delicate,  devout, 
and  extremely  handsome,  though  his  beauty 
was  worn.  In  one  sense  we  had  at  last 
met  face  to  face  on  equal  terms — tied  by  a 
common  chain  :  he  a  political  prisoner,  I, 
a  foreigner,  who  had  killed  a  man  more  or 

9  I29 


Grip 

less  accidentally  in  a  scuffle,  and  who  was 
suffering,  therefore,  simply  and  solely  be- 
cause of  my  nationality.  I  had  hidden  my 
identity  under  an  assumed  name  because  I 
had  been  afraid  that  he  might  refuse  to 
meet  me  did  I  challenge  him  with  the 
shadow  of  a  slur  upon  my  name ;  and  now 
that  we  had  met  at  last,  on  a  perfect  equal- 
ity so  far  as  our  standing  in  the  world  went, 
I  could  not  but  see  that  we  were  far  less 
equal  than  we  had  been  at  any  time,  for  I 
had  won  through  the  most  difficult  part  of 
my  time,  and  he  was  on  the  very  threshold 
of  his  Gethsemane,  with  all  the  horrors  of 
the  worst  right  before  him. 

Of  course  any  idea  of  challenging  him  to 
a  duel  was  out  of  the  question  so  long  as 
we  were,  one  or  both  of  us,  formats  at  the 
Bagne  of  Toulon!  We  might  fight,  and 
one  might  kill  the  other  ;  but  where  would 
be  the  satisfaction  of  killing  a  man  so  much 
my  inferior,  in  a  physical  sense,  as  De 
Lancy,  and,  moreover,  where  would  be  the 
satisfaction  when  my  reward  would  be  the 
guillotine  ?  I  had  no  fancy  either  for  kill- 
ing De  Lancy  in  a  common  fight  or  for 
130 


Face  to  Face 

ending  my  own  days  under  the  knife  of 
shame.  No,  no  ;  a  fair  fight  and  no  favor 
between  gentlemen  of  equal  standing  was 
one  thing — murder  and  suicide  belonged  to 
a  different  category  altogether. 

It  was  not  often  that  a  format  had  the 
chance  of  a  long,  quiet  talk  and  think. 
But  for  the  next  few  hours  De  Lancy  and 
I  had  nothing  to  do,  because  he,  being  a 
new  comer  into  the  JBagne,  was  entitled  to 
a  certain  period  of  rest,  and  I,  being  his 
chain-companion,  could  not  work  without 
him.  Moreover,  I  had  been  in  the  Bagne 
for  nearly  two  years  with  not  the  faintest 
shadow  of  a  misdemeanor  against  my  name, 
and  that  did  not  count  for  nothing.  Vile 
as  the  place  was,  suspicious  as  every  official 
had  come  to  be  by  that  habit  which  is  sec- 
ond nature,  low  cunning  and  uncertain  as 
nine  out  of  ten  of  the  formats  were,  I  had 
yet  won  a  good  reputation  both  for  my 
enormous  strength  and  for  my  having  from 
the  first  set  my  face  against  any  underhand 
ways.  I  wished  to  get  through  my  allotted 
time  without  a  single  black  mark  against 
my  name,  and,  what  was  more,  I  meant  to 


Grip 

carry  it  out.  So  it  seemed  as  if  they  knew 
that  the  new  format  was  safe  with  me,  and 
they  left  us  alone  until  mess-time. 

Thus,  while  De  Lancy  got  his  breath 
lying  in  the  sun  against  the  side  of  the 
well,  and  I  sat  on  the  edge  of  it,  I  was  able 
to  think  out  the  situation  at  my  leisure. 
And  the  main  thought  which  came  to  me 
was  that  my  revenge  was  further  off  from 
me  than  ever  !  For  a  brief  spell  it  had 
seemed  to  me  as  if  Heaven  itself  had  deliv- 
ered him  into  my  hand ;  reflection  taught 
me  that  I  was  in  search  of  an  enemy,  not 
of  a  victim.  True,  it  was  in  my  power  to 
double  his  pains,  to  treble  his  torture,  to 
quadruple  his  regrets,  and  to  wreak  my  ven- 
geance upon  him  in  a  thousand  ways — in 
wretchedness  and  miseries  untold.  But,  as 
I  said,  I  sought  an  enemy,  not  a  victim  ! 
And  my  enemy  must  be  my  equal — in  skill, 
if  not  in  physical  strength  !  Between  Des- 
mond De  Lancy  and  George  Somers  there 
could  be  no  equality  so  long  as  we  were 
bound  by  one  common  chain  in  the  Bagne 
of  Toulon. 

Then  a  new  thought  presented  itself  to 
132 


Face  to  Face 

me.  I  would  keep  silence  as  to  my  real 
self,  I  would  continue  to  conceal  my  iden- 
tity under  the  name  of  Charles  Hyde — poor 
devil !  he  had  little  thought  how  useful  his 
name  and  passport  would  be  to  some  one 
else  when  he  had  done  with  them — and 
I  would  constitute  myself  Desmond  de 
Lancy's  guardian,  I  would  shelter  and 
shield  him,  I  would  do  for  him  what  I  had 
done  for  the  poor  lad,  Jean  Leroy.  Coupled 
with  the  ordinary  blackguard  of  the  Bagne, 
it  is  doubtful  whether  a  man  of  Desmond 
de  Lancy's  temperament  would  have  lived 
six  months  ;  as  my  comrade,  I  could  spare 
him  so  much  that  his  burden  would  be  but 
the  half  of  what  it  should  have  been.  Yes ; 
I  would  shield  him  and  save  him — not  for 
love  as  I  had  shielded  the  weak  lad,  Leroy, 
but  for  very  hate,  so  that  he  should  be 
there  in  good  case  when  I  had  need  of  him. 
Then,  years  hence,  when  we  were  both  free 
of  this  hell  and  out  of  this  hated  and  detes- 
table country,  I  would  call  on  him,  as  one 
gentleman  calls  upon  another,  to  give  me 
the  chance  of  wiping  out  with  his  heart's 
blood  the  wrong  that  he  had  done  me. 

133 


Grip 


CHAPTER  XI. 

FRIENDS   AND   COMRADES? 

HAVING  made  up  my  mind  to  this 
course  of  action,  I  resolved  to  live 
up  to  the  character  of  Charles  Hyde  in 
right  good  earnest.  I  told  De  Lancy  that 
while  we  were  chain-comrades  I  would 
do  my  best  for  him  and  that  I  would  help 
him  through.  "  Come  now,"  I  said,  as- 
suming, though  I  adm.it  it  was  with  an 
effort,  a  tone  of  rough  friendliness,  "  it 
is  getting  near  to  mess-time.  A  new-comer 
like  you  would  get  next  to  nothing,  for 
here  feeding,  like  everything  else,  goes  by 
might  rather  than  right,  and  the  weakest 
goes  to  the  wall." 

"  What  do  they  feed  us  on  ?  "  he  asked 
indifferently. 

"  A  filthy  enough  mess,"  I  replied. 
"  Beans,  black  bread,  rancid  oil — and  bis- 
cuit full  of  weevils." 


Friends  and  Comrades 

"  I  don't  want  any,"  he  said,  and  I  saw 
that  his  unaccustomed  stomach  turned  at 
the  very  thought  of  such  food. 

"  Yes,  but  you  will  get  over  that,"  I  urged. 
"  After  a  few  days  you  will  be  as  ready  for 
your  meals  as  the  rest  of  us.  Hunger  is  a 
fine  sauce,  comrade,  and  it  is  plentiful  here. 
I  must  have  my  dinner  if  you  have  no  ob- 
jection, for  it  is  ten  chances  to  one  that  for 
the  first  week,  I  shall  have  to  do  your  work 
as  well  as  my  own.  And  I  strongly  advise 
you  to  take  your  whack  of  the  rations  and 
to  eat  them,  even  if  at  first  you  have  almost 
to  choke  yourself." 

He  upheaved  himself  with  a  sigh  and 
dragged  himself  across  the  court-yard  be- 
side me.  He  was  unused  to  the  chain  and 
ring  which  encircled  his  ankle,  and  he 
walked  as  awkwardly  as  a  bird  which  for 
the  first  time  finds  itself  prisoned  by  a 
string  to  the  leg. 

It  happened  that  day  that  the  contents 
of  the  mess-tub  was  more  loathly  than  usual 
and  I  saw  that  his  very  gorge  rose  at  it. 
I  had  no  pity  for  him,  not  a  bit ;  he  had 
stolen  my  best  chance  of  happiness  from 

135 


Grip 

me,  and  why  should  he  be  left  all  the  days 
of  his  life  to  wallow  in  luxury  and  happi- 
ness. Why  should  he  not  taste  of  Gethse- 
mane  as  others  had  done  before  him  ? 

But  it  was  not  to  my  interest  that  he 
should  go  foodless  and  so  run  every  risk  of 
catching  one  or  other  of  the  pestilences 
which  from  time  to  time  decimated  the 
population  of  the  Bagne.  So  I  urged  him 
to  choke  down  a  few  mouthfuls  and  told 
him  to  show  a  brave  front  and  be  of  good 
cheer,  for  he  would  get  used  to  it  by  and 
by.  "After  all,"  I  said,  "  what  does  one's 
mere  meat  and  drink  matter  ?  It  will  be 
all  the  same  a  hundred  years  hence  whether 
we  have  fed  to-day  off  ortolans  or  beans 
cooked  in  rancid  oil." 

"I  don't  know,"  he  returned.  "There 
is  a  difference  between  a  man  who  is  well 
fed,  and  a  man  who  is  famished ;  just  the 
difference  between  living  and  dying." 

"  Comrade,"  I  said  quietly,  "  those  who 
sent  you  here,  probably  did  so  with  an  idea 
that  the  life  would  kill  you,  that  you  would 
die  worn-out  long  before  you  had  served 
half  your  time.  So  they  will  be  rid  of  you 
136 


Friends  and  Comrades 

and  you  will  be  out  of  their  way  and  silenced 
for  ever.  Don't  play  into  their  hands. 
Say  to  yourself  that  you  will  live,  no  matter 
how  hard  the  life  ;  that  you  will  eat,  no 
matter  how  poor  the  fare ;  that  you  will 
drink,  no  matter  how  small  the  tipple." 

He  made  but  a  sorry  business  of  his 
dinner  all  the  same  and  I  gathered  that  he 
had  kept  a  chef  (A  no  small  reputation,  so 
that  the  privation  fell  doubly  hard  upon 
him  !  Not  that  it  was  for  his  food  that  he 
repined  as  the  days  went  on  and  he  was 
worn  almost  to  skin  and  bone ;  no,  no,  he 
was  my  enemy  but  I  would  do  him  full 
justice ;  it  was  for  his  wife,  the  young  wife 
whose  beauty  had  been  sufficient  to  send 
me  headlong  to  the  very  devil,  that  he 
yearned  !  I  pitied  him,  yes,  I  pitied  him 
even  in  those  early  days,  for,  much  as  he 
had  wronged  me,  his  case  was  even  worse 
than  mine ;  she  had  been  his  wife  for  more 
than  two  years — she  had  never  been  more 
to  me  than  a  desire. 

However,  be  the  cause  of  a  man  disin- 
clination to  eat,  work,  live,  what  it  will,  it 
is  all  one  to  those  who  rule  the  roast  at 

137 


Grip 

such  a  place  as  the  Bagne  of  Toulon.  A 
certain  amount  of  work  is  the  portion  of 
ihe/orfat,  and  that  work  must  be  done  so 
long  as  life  remains.  At  the  end  of  three 
days, when  De  Lancy  was  perceptibly  weaker 
and  less  physically  fit  for  work  even  than 
when  he  had  arrived,  we  were  ordered  out 
to  join  our  gang. 

It  was  an  absurdity — to  speak  half  in 
jest — to  put  a  man  of  De  Lancy's  physique 
and  position  to  the  work  that  was  allotted 
to  us  that  day.  The  main  part  of  it  fell 
upon  me — or  rather  I  might  say  that  he  was 
able  to  do  no  more  than  the  merest  sem- 
blance of  labor.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was 
the  hauling  of  great  blocks  of  stone  for  the 
construction  of  a  new  dock,  and  at  this 
work  De  Lancy  was  not  only  no  good,  he 
was  an  absolute  detriment  and  only  got  in 
my  way,  hindering  me  from  as  easily  doing 
the  work  of  two  as  I  could  have  done  if  I 
had  been  alone.  He  tried  his  best,  poor 
creature,  but  he  was  weak  yet  from  the 
horror  and  degradation  of  the  long  march, 
and  he  had  not  yet  learned  to  manage  the 
chain  which  bound  us  together,  so  that  we 


Friends  and  Comrades 

were  both  in  continual  danger  of  being 
tripped  up.  However,  I  managed  to  save 
him  from  the  consequences  of  so  disastrous 
an  accident  as  that  would  have  been,  and 
it  was  lucky  for  him  that  I  did  so,  for  the 
gang  of  men  working  together  would  bitterly 
have  wreaked  their  vengeance  on  one  who 
had  been  the  cause  of  a  reprimand  from  the 
garde-chiourme  in  charge  of  the  party,  and 
even  my  superior  strength — for  I  was  in- 
comparably the  strongest  man  of  any  class 
in  the  Bagne — would  scarcely  have  served 
to  save  him. 

"  Hyde — "  he  said  to  me  when  we  had 
finished  our  day's  work  and  were  safely 
locked  up  to  the  sloping  boards  which  were 
all  our  bed — "  I  shall  never  be  able  to  keep 
on  with  this  life.  Think  of  going  on  for 
twelve  years " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  I  answered,  "  it's  like  an 
eternity  when  you  see  it  ahead  of  you. 
But  you've  only  got  to  live  one  day  at  a 
time,  you  know." 

"  But  such  days,"  he  said,  with  a  shudder. 
"  Hyde,  I  shall  never  get  out  of  this." 

"  So  I  felt  just  at  first,"  I  told  him  sooth- 


Grip 

ingly.  "  I — I — wished  a  thousand  things 
that  were  against  all  my  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong.  But  I've  got  almost  used  to  it,  you 
see." 

"  Have  you  ?  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  you 
have.  But  then  you're  such  a  splendid 
man — "  looking  up  at  me  with  evident  ad- 
miration in  his  weary  eyes.  "  Hyde,  you 
are  a  fine  figure  of  a  man." 

I  laughed  aloud,  not  the  pleasant  laugh 
of  gratified  vanity,  but  an  echo  from  the 
place  where  the  fiends  dwell.  He  admired 
me  !  Well  it  is  a  droll  world,  and  the  people 
in  it  are  a  goodly  match  for  the  world  they 
live  in. 

"  Oh,  you  may  laugh,"  he  said,  in  his 
weary  voice,  "  but  it's  true  and  you  know 
it.  There's  not  a  man  here  who  can  hold 
a  candle  to  you,  while  I  am  like  a  shrimp 
beside  you.  And  yet — yet " 

"You  are  attractive  enough  to  some 
people  ;  "  I  put  in,  "  far  more  attractive  than 
my  inches  and  red  ugliness  would  ever  be." 

"  How  quick  you  are ! "  he  murmured. 
"  How  could  you  know  that  I  was  thinking 
of  her  ? " 

140 


Friends  and  Comrades 

"  It  was  easy  to  take  your  meaning,"  I 
replied  carelessly. 

"  You  are  so  quick,"  he  exclaimed,  the 
note  of  admiration  deepening.  "  And, 
Hyde,  you  are  better  than  that.  You're 
such  a  good  fellow." 

I  said  nothing  !  What  could  I  say  ?  I 
hated  him  more  than  ever.  I  loathed  him 
I  rejoiced  in  his  presence  because  the  mere 
fact  of  his  being  a  format  like  myself  had 
made  us  equal.  If  he  had  only  been  a 
Hercules  as  I  was,  I  would  have  revelled 
in  every  little  awkwardness  into  which  he 
was  betrayed,  in  every  twitch  of  the  chain, 
in  every  stumble  he  made  ;  I  would  have 
revealed  myself  to  him  and  I  would  have 
added  the  pleasures  of  my  anticipation  to 
all  the  other  pains  and  penalties  to  which 
he  was  doomed.  As  it  was,  I  kept  my  own 
counsel  and  held  my  peace,  allowing  him 
to  go  on  in  his  blind  ignorance,  believing 
that  I  was  a  good  fellow,  even  expressing 
his  admiration  for  my  superior  size  and 
strength. 

And  yet,  how  little  he  knew  me,  how  ad- 
mirably I  must  at  that  time  have  concealed 
141 


Grip 

my  real  feelings  ;  for  we  were  from  the  hour 
of  our  first  talk  by  the  well-side  friends  and 
comrades.  Friends  and  comrades !  Such 
friendship  as  Judas  might  have  felt  for  the 
Man  of  Sorrows,  such  camaraderie  as  the 
formats  around  us  showed  for  one  another 
when  they  sold  each  other  to  stripes  or  even 
to  death ! 

Still,  although  I  was,  I  admit,  actuated 
by  the  basest  and  meanest  of  motives,  by 
the  most  deadly  and  virulent  passion  by 
which  the  human  race  is  capable  of  being 
moved,  I  played  the  part  of  friend  and  com- 
rade as  thoroughly  and  as  effectually  as  if  I 
had  been  possessed  only  of  a  desire  to  fur- 
ther his  interests  and  to  save  him  as  much 
as  possible  from  pain  and  tribulation.  We 
were  friends  and  comrades,  I  bore  his  la- 
bors and  stood  between  him  and  a  thou- 
sand woes,  and  he — he  loved  me  I 

But  he  did  not  make  good  progress  either 
in  health  or  in  growing  accustomed  to  the 
daily  life  of  the  Bagne.  For  one  thing,  he 
could  not  eat, — day  after  day  I  saw  that  he 
sickened  at  the  very  sight  of  the  mess  which 
was  set  before  him  ;  day  after  day  he  left  his 
142 


Friends  and  Comrades 

portion  or  I  ate  it,  and  the  result  was  that 
with  each  day  he  grew  visibly  weaker  and 
less  able  to  keep  pace  with  me,  even  though 
I  did  all  the  work. 

"De  Lancy,"  I  said  to  him  at  last,  "  if 
you  don't  make  an  effort  to  get  used  to  your 
life  here,  you  will  die." 

"  I  begin  to  think  I  shall,"  he  replied 
wearily.  "  I— I  can't  help  it,  Hyde." 

"  You  can  help  it  if  you  try,"  I  said 
quietly.  "  A  man"  laying  a  very  distinct 
emphasis  on  the  word,  "  can  bring  himself 
to  do  anything.  It  is  unworthy  of  you — 
an  aristocrat — a  gentleman — to  let  yourself 
be  snuffed  out  like  that  poor  lad,  Jean  Le- 
roy,  who  was  with  me  first." 

"  You  did  your  best  for  him,  Hyde." 

"Yes — I  did.  But  he  was  hopeless — 
his  career  was  over ;  he  had  no  hope,  noth- 
ing to  look  forward  to  except  starvation  and 
disgrace.  He  would  have  gone  out  of  this 
a  marked  man,  incapable  of  earning  an 
honest  living,  and  too  cowardly  to  earn  one 
by  wickedness  !  It  was  better  for  him  that 
he  died,  poor  lad,  death  was  a  merciful  re- 
lease, an  easy  way  out  of  all  his  troubles. 

143 


Grip 

With  you  it  is  different.  You  are  a  politi- 
cal prisoner — your  caste  remains  unbroken 
— your  place  in  the  world  outside  of  France, 
aye,  and  possibly  in  it,  if  the  Government 
should  be  changed,  would  not  be  touched 
by  your  imprisonment  here.  You  have 
plenty  of  money,  and  plenty  of  interest  in 
life." 

"  You  mean  my  wife — my  child."  He 
broke  in  almost  eagerly.  "Yes,  Hyde, 
you  are  right.  You  are  right.  And  my 
wife  is  lovely  enough  to  draw  a  man  through 
a  worse  quagmire  of  desolation  and  de- 
spondency than  this  is.  You  are  right !  I 
have  a  wife,  a  child,  they  are  worth  living 
for — you  would  say  so  ten  times  more  if 
you  only  knew  her." 

"  But  you  do  know  her,"  I  said  dryly. 

"  So  that  I  ought  to  keep  her  remem- 
brance ever  before  me,"  he  ended.  "Yes 
• — yes — it  is  true,  so  true ;  only  she  seems 
such  a  long  way  off,  as  if  she  were  in  an- 
other world  altogether,  as  if  I  should  get  to 
her  the  easiest  by  slipping  all  the  fetters  of 
this  world  and  just  waiting  till  she  came  to 
me  there." 

144 


Friends  and  Comrades 

"  But  you  don't  know  that  she  will  ever 
come  to  you  in  another  world,"  I  said,  try- 
ing to  rouse  him  from  this  lethargy,  which 
I  considered  a  highly  dangerous  symptom  ; 
"  you  don't  know  that  there  will  be  any  other 
world. " 

"  If  not,  I  shall  then  know  nothing,"  he 
replied,  turning  his  bright  eyes  upon  me 
with  such  a  look  as  made  me  feel  all  at 
once,  that  he  was  going  to  slip  through  my 
fingers,  after  all.  "  And  it  would  be  better 
to  know  nothing,  to  have  the  blessed  peace- 
fulness  of  oblivion  than  to  go  on  like  this. 
I  am  a  good  Catholic,"  he  went  on,  cross- 
ing himself  devoutly ;  "  I  believe  in  the 
consolations  of  religion,  but  I  have  never 
wholly  understood  the  fear  and  dread  that 
the  priests  tell  us  all  men  have  of  extinc- 
tion. One  had  better  be  nothing  than 
suffer." 

"But  are  you  not  too  proud,  you,  an  aris- 
tocrat, to  let  such  scum  as  these  people  here 
get  the  better  of  you  ? "  I  cried,  trying  to 
rouse  him  otherwise. 

"  I  was  proud  once,"  he  answered  in  a 
tired  voice.  I  watched  him  for  a  while 
10  145 


Grip 

after  he  had  fallen  into  a  troubled  doze  that 
night,  and  wondered  whether  in  truth  his 
spirit  was  too  thoroughly  broken  to  be  roused 
again.  By  the  light  of  the  feeble  lamp 
swinging  overhead — for  we  were  never  left 
in  darkness,  darkness  like  a  cloak  covering 
a  multitude  of  sins — he  certainly  had  the 
appearance  of  a  man  marked  for  death. 
His  face  was  wan,  his  complexion  was 
waxen,  his  frame  emaciated  and  the  hol- 
lows in  his  temples  very  deep  and  all  a- 
throb.  I  felt  that  he  was  slipping  away 
and  that  I  could  do  nothing  to  stay  the  jour- 
ney !  Then  a  desperate  question  put  itself 
before  me  :  Should  I,  could  I,  by  virtue 
of  my  good  character  and  the  mark  of 
commendation  against  my  name,  seek  to 
have  an  interview  with  the  Commandant  ? 
Should  I  tell  him  boldly  that  as  things  were 
then  going,  De  Lancy,  was  little,  if  any- 
thing better,  than  a  dead  man  ? 

What  served  to  rouse  him  out  of  his 
apathy  was  the  arrival  of  a  letter  which  he 
received  at  the  end  of  his  first  three  months 
of  imprisonment. 

Of  course,  it  was  from  his  wife,  from 
146 


Friends  and  Comrades 

Margaret,  and  he  read  it  with  trembling 
hands  and  tear-stained  eyes.  And  then  he 
thrust  it  away  in  the  breast  of  his  hideous 
red  waistcoat  as  if  it  was  a  treasure  of 
which  all  the  world  would  wish  to  deprive 
him. 

"  You  had  no  letter,  Hyde,"  he  said  to 
me  in  his  gentlest  tone. 

"  I  never  have  letters,"  I  replied. 

"  Never !  Why,  what  are  your  people 
thinking  of  ?  " 

"  Of  anything  rather  than  that  I  am  here," 
I  said.  "  Probably  that  I  am  dead." 

"  Then  they  don't  know  ? " 

"  No — and  they  never  will  if  I  can  help 
it.  Only  one  person  holds  any  clue  to  my 
whereabouts — and  when  I  am  free,  I  mean 
to  silence  him  unless  he  silences  me,  when 
it  won't  matter  whether  they  know  or  not." 

"  Poor  devil,"  said  my  enemy  in  a  voice 
full  of  pity.  "  What  did  he  do  to  offend 
you  ? " 


Grip 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BY     A     SIDE-WIND. 

I  COULD  not  refrain  from  laughing  when 
De  Lancy  put  that  question  to  me — 
"  What  did  he  do  to  offend  you  ? "  The 
whole  stituation  was  so  inexpressibly  droll. 

"  He  wronged  me,"  I  answered.  "  And 
there  are  some  wrongs  which  can  only  be 
wiped  out  in  blood." 

"That  is  so,"  he  admitted.  Then  he 
put  his  hand  into  his  bosom  where  the  let- 
ter from  Margaret  was,  as  if  it  was  some- 
thing that  would  be  as  a  shield  and  a  charm 
to  him. 

"  Hyde — "  he  said  at  last  with  a  curious 
hesitancy — "you  have  not  asked  me  for 
any  news  ;  I — I — mean — don't  you  take  an 
interest  ? " 

"  God  knows  I  do  that,"  I  returned 
quickly,  and  it  was  true  enough. 

He  did  not  say  anything  for  a  minute  or 
148 


By  a  Side-Wind 

so ;  then  he  looked  up  with  a  strange  ra- 
diance in  his  eyes.  "  Hyde,"  he  said,  "  you 
have  been  very  good  to  me — you  have 
spared  me  and  saved  me ;  without  you  I 
should  have  sunk  under  the  life  here,  and  I 
should  have  died  weeks  ago.  You  put  new 
life,  new  heart  into  me.  I  feel  now  that 
there  is  a  possibility  of  getting  through  this 
hell  and  of  seeing  my  wife  again,  my  wife 
and  my  child,  who  is  as  if  he  has  no  father. 
I  can  do  little  or  nothing  for  you  as  long  as 
we  are  here — but — but  can  show  you  my 
letter." 

He  drew  it  from  his  breast  and  offered 
it  to  me.  I  put  out  my  hand.  "  Nay,"  I 
said,  "  put  up  your  letter — I  don't  want  to 
read  it ;  it's  yours  and  yours  alone.  It 
would  only  aggravate  me.  I  have  no  one 
to  write  such  letters  to  me,  you  know." 

He  put  the  letter  back  in  his  breast 
again  with  a  deep  breath,  as  if  he  was 
thankful  that  I  had  refused  to  take  advan- 
tage of  his  sacrifice.  I  must  admit  that  I 
had  not  been  swayed  only  by  unselfishness 
in  doing  so,  because,  in  truth,  I  had  no 
desire  "  to  look  into  happiness  through  an- 
149 


Grip 

other  man's  eyes."  And  wretched  as  De 
Lancy's  plight  was,  his  satisfaction  and 
happiness  in  his  letter  were  simply  un- 
bounded. My  case  was  bad  enough,  my 
isolation  sufficiently  complete,  without  my 
deliberately  doing  that  which  would  make 
my  time  of  waiting  almost  impossible  of 
support,  well-nigh  unbearable.  And  the 
letter  was  from  Margaret ! 

Yet  I  felt  that  I  must  speak.  I  must 
say  something. 

"You  have  good  news?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes — as  good  as  could  be  !  My  wife 
is  well — as  well,  she  says,  as  she  will  ever 
be  till  I  am  with  her  again.  And  the  child 
is  thriving  grandly.  You  see  the  strong 
Yorkshire  air " 

"  What,  she  is  in  Yorkshire  ?  "  I  ejacu- 
lated. 

"  She  writes  from  Thorpe-Hutton,  her 
father's  place,"  he  replied,  all  unsuspect- 
ing of  what  his  words  had  conveyed  to  me. 
"  When  I  was  arrested,  I  wished  her  to  go 
home.  I  knew  that  she  would  be  safest 
among  her  own  people,  whatever  might  be- 
fall me.  She  says  it  is  a  beautiful  place." 


By  a  Side-Wind 

"  You  have  never  been  there  ?  " 
"  Never  !  We  came  to  France  as  soon 
as  we  were  married,  and  we  never  went 
over  to  England  again.  For  one  thing 
Margaret  was  ill  in  the  early  days  of  our 
life  together.  And  then  the  following 
summer  all  her  family  came  over  to  France 
and  stayed  with  us  on  my  estate  on  the 
Rhone  in  Ardeche.  We  had  talked  of 
going  back  to  England  at  this  time,  and  of 
spending  Christmas  at  Thorpe- Hutton. 
However,  it  was  not  to  be,  and  my  poor 
Margaret  returned  to  her  old  home  worse 
than  a  widow.  She  says  I  cannot  imagine 
how  strange  it  is  to  her  to  be  back  in  all 
the  haunts  of  her  childhood,  with  only  the 
baby  to  remind  her  that  the  past  is  not  all 
a  dream." 

I  did  not  answer !  We  were  enjoying 
the  midday  hour  of  rest.  I  was  sitting  on 
a  block  of  stone  which  we  were  engaged 
in  shaping,  and  De  Lancy  was  sitting  on  the 
ground,  his  back  propped  against  a  similar 
block.  So  I  sat  there  amid  the  unlovely 
surroundings  of  a  prison  stone-yard,  while 
my  mind  conjured  up  a  vision  of  Margaret 


Grip 

as  I  had  seen  her  last,  of  Margaret  once 
more  flitting  in  and  out  of  the  wainscotted 
rooms  at  Thorpe-Hutton,  of  Margaret  pass- 
ing down  the  great  avenue  of  chestnuts,  of 
Margaret  sitting  in  the  great  square  pew  of 
the  little  old  church  with  its  dumpy  tower 
and  walls  of  yellow  ochre !  It  was  too 
painful  a  picture,  and  I  shook  myself  free 
of  such  recollections  with  a  gesture  of  im- 
patience. 

"  They  are  very  gay  in  those  quiet  York- 
shire places,"  I  said,  seeing  that  he  was 
looking  at  me  in  surprise.  I  felt  con- 
strained to  say  something  and  I  blurted  out 
the  first  thought  that  came  into  my  mind. 

"  So  she  says ;  but  she  is  going  nowhere 
as  yet.  She  tells  me— but  listen — 'The 
only  place  I  have  been  to  by  way  of  visit- 
ing is  to  Somersley,  which  belongs  to  Sir 
Robert  Somers,  who  is  my  father's  nearest 
neighbor  and  greatest  friend.  I  don't  think 
I  shall  go  again.  The  girls  are  both  mar- 
ried and  not  often  there,  and  only  Wynne, 
the  youngest  boy  of  all,  is  at  home.  He  is 
preparing  for  the  Church,  as  there  are  liv- 
ings to  think  of.  The  dear  old  Squire  is  a 

'52 


By  a  Side-Wind 

good  deal  altered  since  William's  death ; 
and  George,  the  third  son — the  one  who 
used  to  be  my  old  sweetheart — is  abroad ; 
and  they,  the  girls,  who  were  both  at  home 
for  Christmas,  warned  me  not  to  ask  for 
him,  as  Sir  Robert  has  never  forgiven  him 
for  selling  out  of  the  Service  for  some  un- 
explained reason.  My  conscience  smites 
me  sorely  about  poor  George,  and  I  scarce 
liked  to  look  Sir  Robert  in  the  face.  If e 
was  just  the  same  to  me,  you  know,  except- 
ing that  he  is  so  dull  and  unlike  his  old 
self.  His  sister-in-law,  Miss  Greville,  whom 
we  have  always  called  "  Aunt  Eliza,"  was 
very  stiff  with  me,  and  but  gave  me  the 
tips  of  her  fingers.  Poor  old  lady,  I  dare- 
say she  thinks  it  a  terrible  disgrace  to  have 
a  husband  a  political  prisoner.  Anyway, 
I  don't  think  that  I  shall  go  over  to  Som- 
ersley  again  for  a  long  time.  My  little 
Claude  is  company  enough  for  me.' " 

I  heard  it  all,  the  news  of  my  own  home 
and  my  own  people,  without,  I  believe, 
moving  so  much  as  a  muscle  of  my  face. 
So  Rachel  was  married — I  wondered  to 
whom  ?  And  Bill  was  dead — good,  steady, 


Grip 

kind  old  Bill — and  I  knew  not  when  he  had 
died,  nor  from  what  cause  !  And  Sir  Rob- 
ert, my  good  old  father,  was  so  changed 
that  Margaret  hardly  knew  him  ;  he  never 
spoke  of  me.  Bluff  and  sturdy  Aunt  Eliza 
was  still  to  the  front,  and  she  had  not  for- 
gotten the  past,  nor  brought  herself  to  be 
over  and  above  civil  to  the  girl  who  had 
wronged  me.  Good  old  Aunt  Eliza  !  She 
was  faithful  and  true  to  her  graceless  god- 
son, even  though  more  than  two  years  had 
gone  by  since  she  had  heard  a  single  word 
of  me.  Dear  old  Aunt  Eliza !  I  knew  as 
well  as  if  I  had  actually  been  at  Somersley, 
that  there  was  no  thought  in  her  mind  of 
disgrace  or  of  imprisonment,  but  that  Mar- 
garet's first  offence,  that  of  slighting  me, 
was  still  in  her  mind.  And  Margaret  had 
not  wholly  forgotten — her  conscience  was 
tender. 

"Then  there  was  another  lover?"  I 
said,  feeling  that  he  was  waiting  for  me  to 
speak. 

"Well,  scarcely  a  lover.  A  boyish 
sweetheart — nothing  to  touch  her  heart," 
he  said,  carelessly. 


By  a  Side- Wind 

"  Or  his  !  "  I  rejoined.  I  could  not  help 
speaking  bitterly. 

"  Possibly.  Anyway,  in  these  matters 
the  men  must  abide  by  the  lady's  wishes ! 
If  he  was  the  kind  of  young  man  who 
could  abandon  his  career,  and  break  his 
father's  heart  because  the  girl  he  fancied 
preferred  another,  he  was  certainly  not  fit 
to  be  the  husband  of  any  young  girl,  to 
say  nothing  of  her  being  one  of  so  sen- 
sitive and  so  dependent  a  nature  as  Mar- 
garet's. Oh,  I  don't  waste  much  pity  over 
him,  I  assure  you.  Ah,"  with  a  heavy  sigh 
"  there  is  the  whistle." 

In  another  moment  the  great  yard  was 
all  astir  \vithforfats  getting  to  work  again, 
and  we  too  had  no  further  time  for  conver- 
sation. But  I  had  leisure,  aye,  and  to 
spare,  for  thinking,  and  my  thoughts  were 
all  bitter  as  I  chipped  and  chipped  at  the 
great  block  of  stone.  So  he  had  no  pity 
to  waste  over  Margaret's  early  lover  !  In 
such  matters  men  must  abide  by  the  lady's 
wishes  !  And  he  could  even,  from  his  posi- 
tion of  abject  wretchedness  and  humilia- 

'55 


Grip 

tion,  find  scathing  words  of  condemnation 
and  reproof  for  me  ! 

I  looked  at  him  as  he  awkwardly  plied 
his  tools,  and  I  hated  him  more  than 
ever !  How  dared  he  be  the  one  to  judge 
me,  and  to  judge  me  out  of  his  knowledge 
of  me,  which  was  but  partial,  and  acquired 
at  second-hand  ?  I  hated  him — I  hated 
him  !  My  whole  soul  seemed  to  rise  up  in 
arms  and  to  revolt  against  the  idea  of 
doing  another  hand's  turn  to  serve  him, 
even  though  it  was  to  save  him  for  the 
purposes  of  my  own  vengeance. 

Thus  I  became  more  and  more  set  on 
one  day  meeting  De  Lancy  face  to  face  and 
on  terms  of  absolute  equality,  of  demanding 
my  chance  of  wiping  out  my  wrong  in 
blood.  I  conquered  myself  of  the  almost 
irresistible  inclination  to  do  nothing  more 
to  help  him,  of  the  impulse  to  declare  my 
identity  and  to  avow  myself  his  open  ene- 
my, and  by  the  time  we  had  ceased  work 
for  the  day,  I  was  to  all  outward  seeming 
his  friend  and  comrade  as  of  yore. 

True,  I  had  left  him  almost  alone,  and 
he  was  tired  out  by  the  time  we  had  got 

'56 


By  a  Side-Wind 

back  to  the  long  vestibule  in  which  we  ate 
our  appetizing  supper.  And  later,  when 
we  were  once  more  chained  up  to  our  bed 
of  planks,  he  sank  off  to  sleep,  a  happy 
smile  on  his  face,  his  hand  clutching  at 
his  breast  where  the  letter  was !  I  leaned 
on  my  elbow  watching  him  for  a  longtime; 
and  how  I  hated  him  !  I  believe,  too,  that 
I  hated  her  ! 

I  did  not  sleep  much  that  night !  You 
see,  I  had,  by  a  side-wind  it  is  true,  been 
unexpectedly  brought  in  touch  with  my  own 
people  and  my  home  life.  I  had  existed 
for  two  years  almost  content  to  be  without 
letters  and  without  news  of  them  ;  but  now 
that  the  ice  was  once  broken,  I  yearned 
fiercely  for  something  more,  for  a  letter  of 
my  own,  for  a  direct  communication  with 
my  own  kith  and  kin  ! 

As  I  watched  him,  he  started  in  his  sleep 
and  such  a  smile  of  surprise  and  delight 
overspread  his  face  that  I  knew  he  was 
dreaming  of  Margaret.  And  I  was  almost 
sorry  that  my  sense  of  honor  was  too  strong 
for  me  to  throttle  the  life  out  of  him  as  he 
lay. 


Grip 

As  the  days  went  by  I  consoled  myself 
with  the  idea  that  it  would  be  at  least  three 
months  before  any  fresh  news  could  come 
to  me,  or  before  I  could  be  tortured  in  the 
same  way  again.  But  I  was  wrong !  I  had 
forgotten  that  De  Lancy  had  permission  to 
write  to  his  wife  at  stated  times  and  it  was 
not  very  long  before  the  first  of  these  in- 
dulgences came  due. 

The  greater  part  of  the  wretched  deni- 
zens of  the  Bagne  could  neither  read  nor 
write  and  were  therefore  obliged  to  call  in  the 
good  offices  of  a  letter-writer.  De  Lancy, 
naturally  not  being  one  of  these,  wrote  his 
own  letter  and  spent  several  hours — the 
precious  midday  hour  for  repose — over  it. 
"  They  will  read  every  word  of  it,"  I  re- 
minded him. 

"  They  may — I  have  said  nothing  that 
could  be  called  incriminating,"  he  replied. 

"  Don't  say  much  about  me." 

"  Why  not !  " 

"  Because  if  you  say  much  they  may 
separate  us." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that.  I  was  going 
to  tell  my  wife  everything  that  you  have 

158 


By  a  Side- Wind 

done  for  me.  But  the  risk  is  too  great. 
Hyde,  what  should  I  do  without  you  ?  " 

"  We  won't  go  into  that,  comrade,"  I  said 
quietly. 

He  went  on  with  his  letter,  writing  very 
closely,  so  as  to  use  up  every  scrap  of  his 
allowance  of  paper.  And  when  he  had 
finished,  he  said  to  me — "  I  have  told  her 
nothing  excepting  that  my  chain-comrade 
is  an  Englishman  and  that  his  name  is 
Charles  Hyde." 

"  That  is  good.  By  the  way,  do  you 
write  in  French  or  in  English  ? 

"  In  French.  Were  I  to  write  in  English, 
the  letter  would  have  to  go  to  the  trans- 
lator and  would  probably  be  stopped.  My 
wife  speaks  and  understands  French  per- 
fectly. 

I  pondered  not  a  little,  wondering  what 
Margaret  would  think  if  she  knew  that  her 
letter  had  sent  news  of  his  family  to  her 
first  sweetheart,  George  Somers  ?  How 
intense  would  be  her  astonishment  could 
she  but  learn  that  the  Charles  Hyde,  who 
was  her  husband's  chain-comrade,  was 
none  other  than  the  playfellow  of  her 

'59 


Grip 

young  days,  the  George  Somers  whose 
father  never  spoke  of  him  and  for  whose 
sake  my  doughty  old  Aunt  Eliza  had  scarce 
given  her  a  finger  in  greeting.  Well,  she 
would  know  some  day ;  till  then,  I  would 
wait.  As  I  had  waited  in  the  past,  so 
would  I  in  the  present  patiently  abide  un- 
til the  time  was  ripe. 

160 


Days,  and  Weeks,  and  Months 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DAYS,  AND  WEEKS,  AND  MONTHS! 

IT  must  not  be  imagined  that  having 
got  over  the  first  few  weeks  of  life 
in  the  Bagne,  De  Lancy  went  straight  on 
and  settled  down  quietly  to  getting  through 
his  time  ;  far  from  it.  Indeed,  from  time 
to  time,  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  neither  heart 
nor  strength  to  go  on,  and  that  he  would 
find  it  a  positive  relief  to  feel  his  head 
under  the  knife  of  the  guillotine. 

"  I  cannot  stand  the  food,"  he  said  to  me 
over  and  over  again.  "  I  cannot  stand  the 
monotony,  the  eternal  round  which  never 
changes  and  makes  one  day  so  like  another 
that  one  does  not  know  if  it  is  to-day  or 
to-morrow.  The  continual  attitude  of  sub- 
serviency— and  subserviency  to  such  brutes 
too.  I  cannot  stand  out  against  it  any 
longer." 

ii  161 


Grip 

"  You  must  stand  out  against  it,"  I  urged 
upon  him  one  day. 

"  No — I  cannot.  Only  this  morning  that 
brute  struck  at  me  with  his  cane  because  I 
did  not  move  fast  enough  to  please  his 
greatness.  You  saw  it  for  yourself,  Hyde." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  it.  How  could  I  help  it  ? " 
I  replied. 

"  If  I  had  been  free,"  he  muttered  be- 
tween his  teeth,  "  I  would  have  cracked  his 
head  for  him.  Gad,  I  would." 

"  When  I  was  free  I  did  indulge  myself 
in  cracking  a  policeman's  skull,"  I  re- 
marked. "  And  here  I  am  in  consequence. 
I've  wished  the  skull  whole  again  a-many 
times,  I  promise  you." 

"  Besides — "  he  went  on,  stretching  him- 
self wearily — "  I  should  at  least  have  the 
satisfaction  of  making  an  end  of  Pierre 
Lebrun." 

"  And  of  going  to  the  guillotine  yours  elf," 
I  rejoined  quickly.  "  And  where  would  be 
the  satisfaction  in  that?  I  can  quite  un- 
derstand your  wife's  feeling  that  there  is  no 
disgrace  in  your  being  a  political  prisoner, 
and  her  feeling  the  foolishness  of  my — I 

162 


Days,  and  Weeks,  and  Months 

mean  that  I  can  quite  understand  your 
wife  feeling  that  it  was  foolish  of  the  lady 
whom  she  fancied  met  her  coldly  on  that 
account.  But  to  have  a  husband  a  politi- 
cal prisoner  is  one  thing,  and  to  have  a 
husband  who  died  under  the  guillotine,  for 
insubordination  and  mutiny  against  rec- 
ognized authority,  is  quite  a  different 
matter." 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  few  minutes,  so 
I  went  on.  "  You  don't  happen  to  have 
seen  a  flogging  here  yet,"  I  said.  "  I  have. 
You're  a  gentleman,  half  an  Englishman  ; 
I  don't  want  to  see  you  flogged  as  they 
flogged  that  poor  lad,  Leroy.  And  they 
must  have  known  that  he  was  dying,"  I 
added. 

Somehow,  my  heart  always  went  down 
when  I  thought  of  the  past  and  of  the  weak 
lad's  sufferings  at,  save  the  mark,  the 
hands  of  justice  !  In  a  moment  my  mind 
had  conjured  up  the  vision  of  his  ghastly 
face  bleached  by  fear  and  pain  of  every 
vestige  of  color,  of  his  poor  narrow  cring- 
ing rabbit's  back  torn  and  scored  by  the 
cruel  thong  of  the  tar-plaited  whip  !  And 

163 


Grip 

I  had  stood  by,  in  silence  perforce,  because 
I  could  not,  must  not  interfere,  for  by  so 
doing  I  should  only  have  added  further 
punishment  to  him,  who  could  so  ill  bear 
what  had  been  apportioned  out  to  him  al- 
ready. De  Lancy  knew  my  feeling  pretty 
well  on  this  subject  and  the  pain  it  was  to 
me  to  cast  my  memory  back  over  that  part 
of  my  life,  and  after  a  while  he  spoke. 

"  Hyde — "  he  said,  in  a  shaking  voice — 
"  you  are  a  good  fellow,  the  best  I  have 
ever  known  in  all  my  life." 

"  No — don't  say  that,"  I  said  hurriedly. 

"  But  I  do  say  it — I  mean  it.  I  don't 
like  to  think  what  sort  of  plight  I  should  be 
in  if  I  were  here  without  you,  without  you 
to  act  as  a  check  upon  my  wrong-headed- 
ness.  Forgive  me,  Hyde.  I'll  do  my  best 
for  your  sake." 

So  the  temptation  to  break  out  was  tided 
over  once  more  and  De  Lancy  went  on 
with  the  struggle.  I  worked  with  desper- 
ate energy  at  this  time  so  that  too  much 
should  not  fall  upon  him,  for  in  his  poor 
state  of  health,  with  his  nerves  all  shattered 
and  his  heart  always  yearning  fiercely  for 
164 


Days,  and  Weeks,  and  Months 

freedom  and  his  wife,  he  was  always  in 
danger  of  breaking  out  anew  and  of  com- 
mitting himself  to  what  would  have  been 
certain  death.  There  was  one  great  ad- 
vantage in  the  companionship  of  the  chain, 
which  was  a  great  set-off  against  the  disad- 
vantage of  being  more  or  less  at  the  mercy 
of  another  man's  will  day  and  night.  It 
was  that  I  was  always  at  his  elbow,  so  that 
he  was  not  given  opportunities  of  getting 
into  trouble,  as  he  would  probably  have 
done  had  I  not  been  by  to  speak  a  warning 
word  or  to  lay  a  restraining  hand  on  his 
arm  when  I  saw  the  scarlet  danger-signals 
mounting  to  his  face. 

In  spite  of  his  English  blood — and  the 
English  are  supposed  to  keep  cool  heads 
on  all  occasions — his  temperament  had 
much  in  it  of  his  Southern  race  ;  he  never 
learned  to  control  himself.  He  did  manage 
to  keep  himself  under  control,  but  never  on 
his  own  initiative. 

Now  I,  on  the  contrary,  had  above  all 
things  learned  endurance.  At  home,  at 
Somersley,  they  had  always  called  me  hot- 
tempered,  and  my  father  had  more  than 


Grip 

once  shaken  his  head  over  me  and  had 
said — "  George  —  George  —  I  don't  know 
what  that  headlong  nature  of  yours  will 
bring  you  to  !  "  Well,  it  had  brought  me 
to  the  Bagne  of  Toulon,  and  I  many  a  time 
thanked  God  that  Sir  Robert  did  not  know 
it. 

Still,  if  my  ill-luck  had  done  nothing 
else,  it  had  taught  me  to  perfection  how  to 
endure ;  a  hot  temper  and  impatience  of 
restraint  might  have  brought  me  to  the 
Bag™,  but  the  Bagne  had  taught  me  how 
to  accept  ill-fortune  with  the  coolness  of  a 
stoic ;  it  had  taught  me  to  pass  by  insult 
and  contumely  with  a  face  betraying  noth- 
ing of  the  inward  fury  which  possessed  me  ; 
it  had  taught  me  perfect  command  of  my. 
self. 

I  can  scarcely  explain  how  strange  and 
conflicting  were  my  feelings  towards  De 
Lancy  !  I  was  torn  in  opposite  ways,  I 
was  actuated  by  my  hatred,  which  had 
grown  to  be  as  a  part  of  myself,  the  one 
thing  that  I  had  to  live  for,  the  only  thing 
which  had  made  me,  from  the  very  moment 
of  my  unfortunate  encounter  with  the  gens  de 
166 


Days,  and  Weeks,  and  Months 

police,  Jean  Duval,  set  myself  to  one  steady 
end  and  aim ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  I 
was  moved  by  my  profound  pity  for  his 
weakness  and  his  pride,  both  of  race  and 
place,  which  made  it  difficult, — difficult,  aye 
and  almost  impossible, — for  him  to  cringe 
and  bow  to  men  who  were  in  every  sense 
his  inferiors.  Through  many  weary  days 
and  weeks,  I  was  conscious  that,  but  for 
the  deadly  hatred  which  flourished  in  my 
heart,  I  should  have  loved  De  Lancy  as  I 
had  never  known  what  it  was  to  love  the 
poor  craven  lad,  Jean  Leroy.  In  my  feel- 
ing towards  him  pity  had  been  akin  to  love ; 
as  regards  Desmond  de  Lancy  the  senti- 
ment was  ever  uppermost  that  if  I  hated 
him  myself,  I  yet  did  not  wish  to  see  him 
put  upon  or  maltreated  by  others.  I  had 
the  hatred  of  a  gentleman  for  a  gentleman 
— but  when  these  prison  scum  came  in,  I 
had  first  of  all  the  instinctive  sense  that 
men  of  class  must  stand  by  one  another. 

So  the  days  and  weeks  went  on,  their 

monotony  unbroken  excepting  by  horrors, 

for  if  I  had  apparently  got  well  used  to  the 

life  of  the  Bagne,  if   I  had  succeeded  in 

167 


Grip 

quelling  outbreak  after  outbreak  as  they 
arose  in  the  hot  Southern  heart  of  my 
comrade  of  the  chain,  others  there  were 
and  in  plenty  who  found  existence  so  wholly 
insupportable  that  they  were  glad  to  end 
it  in  any  way  !  There  was  only  one  way  in 
the  Bagne  of  Toulon  ! 

At  last  the  time  came  round  for  De  Lancy 
to  receive  another  letter,  or  I  should  more 
correctly  say  that  the  time  came  round 
when  he  should  by  rights  have  received 
his  third  letter  since  his  arrival  at  Toulon. 
The  time  for  the  second  one  had  passed  in 
silence  and  disappointment,  but  when  the 
end  of  another  three  months  drew  near  and 
De  Lancy  had  almost  persuaded  himself 
that  Margaret  had  forgotten  him,  that  she 
was  ill,  even  dead, — any  and  every  excuse 
excepting  that  of  faithlessness, — a  letter 
came. 

"  Hyde,"  he  said  to  me,  "  I  dare  not 
open  it." 

"  Nonsense  !     You  know  the  writing  ?  " 

"  It  is  from  her." 

I  laughed  aloud,  the  bitter  laugh  that  his 
mention  of  Margaret  always  provoked. 
1 68 


Days,  and  Weeks,  and  Months 

"Tush,  man,  don't  be  faint-hearted.  If 
'tis  good  news,  you  will  be  the  better  for  it ; 
if  bad,  the  quicker  'tis  over  the  better." 

His  hands  trembled  violently  as  he 
opened  the  closely-written  sheet,  and  he 
began  to  read  with  eager  eyes,  throwing  out 
little  scraps  of  information  as  he  scanned 
the  words.  "  She  is  well — praise  to  God — 
Yes — she  did  write.  Concludes  as  she  has 
not  heard  that  her  letter  was  stopped.  Ah, 
the  brutes,  how  could  they  have  the  heart 
to  do  it?" 

So  he  read  his  letter,  and  then,  just  as 
he  was  getting  near  to  the  end,  he  turned 
to  me,  with  quite  a  new  expression  on  his 
face  and  said, — "  Hyde — are  you  one  of 
the  Hydes  of  Pakenfield  ?  " 
169 


Grip 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

FRIENDS  OUT  OF  THE  UNKNOWN. 

WHEN  De  Lancy  asked  me  that  plain 
question — "  Are  you  one  of  the 
Hydes  of  Pakenfield  ? "— I  felt  all  on  a 
sudden  as  if  the  very  world  was  crumbling 
away  from  beneath  my  feet. 

I  had,  however,  sufficient  presence  of 
mind  to  answer  him  without  showing  the 
consternation  which  I  truly  felt. 

"Pakenfield?"  I  said,  "I  never  heard 
of  the  place.  No,  I  don't  belong  to  that 
family.  What  makes  you  ask  ?  " 

"  My  wife  says — '  Try  to  find  out  if  your 
comrade  is  a  Hyde  of  Pakenfield !  I 
met  a  Mrs.  Hyde  a  few  weeks  ago  who  is 
in  great  anxiety  about  her  only  son,  who  is 
called  Charles  Hyde.  He  went  abroad — 
to  Paris — about  two  and  a  half  years  ago, 
and  she  has  absolutely  lost  sight  of  him. 
170 


Friends  Out  of  the  Unknown 

There  is  a  large  estate  depending  on  him 
and  it  will  pass  to  a  cousin  if  the  son  does 
not  return.  But  at  present  all  is  at  a  stand- 
still, and,  as  Mrs.  Hyde  says,  she  is  broken- 
hearted, hoping  always  against  hope,  not 
daring  either  to  look  for  the  best  or  to 
acknowledge  the  worst.' " 

I  had  no  doubt  at  all  in  my  own  mind 
that  the  young  man  whom  this  lady  sought 
was  the  Charles  Hyde  under  whose  pass- 
port and  whose  name  I  had  hidden  my 
identity.  But  situated  as  I  was,  I  did  not 
see  that  I  could  very  well  say  so.  Of 
course,  I  was  extremely  sorry  for  the  poor 
lady's  anxiety  and  any  information  that  I 
had  to  give  was  not  such  as  would  tend  to 
make  her  any  the  happier.  For  Charles 
Hyde  was  dead — had  indeed  died  before  I 
ever  heard  of  him. 

True,  my  little  Israelitish  friend,  Jules 
Ferrand,  probably  knew  how  and  when  and 
where  he  had  come  by  his  end,  and  it  did 
not  suit  me  nay,  rather,  it  was  absolutely 
impossible  for  me  to  put  the  lady  in  com- 
munication with  Jules  Ferrand.  Probably 
the  direct  result  of  such  a  course  would 
171 


Grip 

have  been  that  I  should  have  found  myself 
indicted  on  a  fresh  charge  and  have  been 
condemned  to  a  new  term  of  the  travaux 
forces,  which  would  assuredly  not  run  con- 
jointly with  that  which  I  was,  at  that  very 
moment,  working  out.  And  though  I  had 
been  trained  from  my  childhood  in  gallan- 
try towards  the  fair  sex,  I  did  not  see  my 
way  to  carrying  the  principle  so  far  as  that. 
"  I  am  sure  I  am  very  sorry  for  the  poor 
lady,"  I  said  with  a  concerned  air,  "but 
indeed  I  am  not  the  young  man  she  seeks. 
For  some,  nay,  for  many  things  I  wish  I 
were,  for  I  should  at  least  have  an  estate  of 
my  own  to  go  home  to  instead  of  being,  as 
I  am,  never  likely  to  have  greater  landed 
interest  than  to  the  extent  of  six  feet  by 
three.  Of  course,  as  a  matter  of  fact  who- 
ever undertakes  the  office  of  providing  me 
with  a  grave  will  have  actually  to  endow  me 
with  a  few  inches  more,  but  that  is  beside 
the  question.  Pray  tell  your  wife,  when 
you  write  to  her  again,  to  disabuse  the  poor 
lady's  mind  of  any  lingering  hope  she  may 
have  that  in  me  she  has  found  a  clue  to  her 
son's  whereabouts.  My  father  was  a  coun- 
172 


Friends  Out  of  the  Unknown 

try  gentleman  unable  to  give  me  either  es- 
tate or  any  considerable  sum  of  money  to 
my  fortune,  and  I  have  not  a  single  Hyde 
relation  in  all  the  world." 

"  But  you  have  relations  ? "  he  said  ques- 
tioningly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  they  are  not  called  Hyde." 

"  I  see ;  you  have  relations  on  your 
mother's  side.  Is  your  mother  living  ? " 

"  No.     She  died  many  years  ago." 

"  Ah !  And  you  have  lost  your  father 
too,"  he  said  pityingly. 

I  had  never  said  so,  but  I  let  the  remark 
pass  without  comment ;  it  made  no  differ- 
ence to  him  whether  my  father  was  living 
or  dead. 

"  I  have  often  wondered,"  he  went  on 
dreamily,  "  how  it  was  that  you  never  spoke 
of  your  people  or  of  your  past  life.  Now, 
I  have  told  you  everything  that  there  is  to 
tell  about  myself,  all  about  my  own  place, 
my  youth,  my  experiences  in  England,  my 
wife  and  her  family,  everything.  Why  is  it 
that  you  have  never  put  any  confidence  in 
me?" 

"  I  never  have  anything  to  tell,"  I  replied. 


Grip 

"I  did  not  think  that  you  would  find  my 
past  interesting." 

"  Everything  outside  these  walls  is  inter- 
esting," he  rejoined  bitterly.  "  Hyde,  I 
hope  with  all  my  heart,  that  I  have  not 
wearied  you." 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world.  On  the 
contrary,  I  have  always  been  deeply  inter- 
ested in  everything  that  you  have  told 
me." 

It  was  true  enough,  and  he  murmured 
something  to  the  effect  that  he  was  glad. 
"  I  am  not  a  communicative  man,"  I  went 
on.  "  My  disposition  is  altogether  differ- 
ent to  yours,  I  don't  feel  any  desire  to  un- 
burden myself  to  any  one." 

"  Ah,  you  are  a  lucky  fellow  in  one  sense, 
you  have  nothing  of  which  to  unburden 
yourself." 

I  did  not  argue  the  point ;  where  would 
have  been  the  good  ?  But  I  repeated  my 
assertion  that  I  was  not  Charles  Hyde  of 
Pakenfield  and  that  I  had  never  in  all  my  life 
heard  of  the  place,  and  added,  that  I  hoped 
he  would  ask  his  wife  to  set  the  poor  lady's 
mind  at  rest  on  the  subject  without  the  de- 

174 


Friends  Out  of  the  Unknown 

lay  of  a  moment  after  she  received  the  in- 
telligence. He  promised  that  he  would  do 
so,  but  reminded  me  that  some  weeks  would 
elapse  ere  he  would  have  leave  to  write. 
"But  you,  Hyde,"  he  suggested  eagerly, 
"  you  have  never  written  a  letter  since  you 
came  to  this  place.  Why  do  not  you  write 
to  my  wife  ?  It  would  set  the  poor  lady's 
mind  at  rest  a  good  deal  sooner  and  it 
would  give  my  wife  news  of  me." 

I  laughed  outright,  for  the  idea  of  my 
writing  to  Margaret  in  order  that  she  might 
have  news  a  little  sooner  of  her  husband 
was  extremely  droll !  Besides,  the  caligra- 
phy  would  betray  me  at  once ;  Margaret 
would  not  have  forgotten  the  handwriting 
of  her  old  sweetheart — and — and — any- 
way, I  could  never  bring  myself  to  do  it. 
"  No,  comrade,  no,  I  would  rather  not  put 
pen  to  paper  here.  A. format  like  myself, 
has  no  right  to  address  a  lady  and  without 
permission.  It  is  very  sad  that  my  name- 
sake's mother  should  remain  in  suspense, 
but  it  cannot  be  helped ;  she  must  wait 
umtil  you  write  to  your  wife  again." 

"  You  need  not  think   of   that.     I    will 
'75 


Grip 

answer  for  it  that  your  letter  will  be  wel- 
come." 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  it  is  quite  impossible  for 
me  to  do  it." 

"  Well,  if  you  would  rather  not "  he 

began,  when  I  cut  the  discussion  short. 

"  Truly,  I  would  rather  not,"  I  said,  and 
I  spoke  in  a  tone  which  admitted  of  no 
further  argument. 

De  Lancy  said  not  a  single  word  more, 
but  swallowed  down  his  disappointment 
like  the  gentleman  he  was.  I  hated  him, 
he  had  ruined  my  life,  but  I  am  bound  to 
say  as  I  was  fain  to  confess  to  myself  then, 
that  he  was  a  gentleman  "  core  through,"  as 
Yorkshire  folk  say. 

Still,  although  I  thought  that  I  had  dis- 
posed of  any  further  questioning  concern- 
ing Charles  Hyde  of  Pakenfield,  I  was 
altogether  mistaken.  A  few  weeks  had 
gone  by,  the  time  when  De  Lancy  might 
write  a  letter  had  come  and  the  letter  had 
been  written  and  despatched,  when  one 
day,  towards  the  end  of  the  long  afternoon, 
an  urgent  summons  came  for  us  to  go  im- 
mediately to  the  Commandant's  bureau  ! 
176 


Friends  Out  of  the  Unknown 

"Something  has  happened,"  said  De 
Lancy. 

"Nothing  unusual  has  happened  here, 
so  unless  they  want  some  information  out 
of  one  of  us,  it  must  be  something  from 
outside,"  I  replied. 

"  Hyde,"  he  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice, 
"  do  you  think  she  is  dead  ?  " 

"  No — they  would  not  take  the  trouble 
to  break  such  news  as  that.  You  would 
hear  in  the  ordinary  way  through  a  letter," 
I  replied.  "  Why,  man,  you  are  shaking ! 
Pluck  up  your  spirit  and  wait  till  you  know 
the  worst." 

I  said  everything  that  I  could  to  re- 
assure him  as  we  went  towards  the  Com- 
mandant's bureau  in  charge  of  our  warder, 
Pierre  Lebrun.  He  entered  the  lobby  be- 
fore us  and,  knocking  at  the  door,  awaited 
the  order  to  enter.  Then  he  bade  us  by 
a  gesture  pass  in  and,  following  himself, 
closed  the  door  behind  us,  waiting  at  atten- 
tion until  the  Commandant  should  speak. 
I  saw  that  there  were  two  ladies,  one  a 
good  deal  older  than  the  other,  sitting  on 
the  other  side  of  the  bureau,  while  on  the 
12  177 


Grip 

Commandant's  table  there  lay  a  very  offi- 
cial looking  paper  to  which  were  attached 
several  seals. 

"  Which  of  these  men  is  Charles  Hyde  ? " 
the  Commandant  asked.  He  called  it 
'  Sharl  'Yde '  and  I  know  that  he  knew  us 
both  particularly  well,  especially  De  Lancy, 
who  was  a  political  prisoner  of  great  im- 
portance. It  was,  however,  his  way  of 
making  De  Lancy  feel  that  he  was  one  of 
a  crowd  and  that  his  identity  had  been 
completely  blotted  out. 

Pierre  Lebrun  indicated  that  I  was  the 
person  alluded  to  and  the  older  of  the  two 
ladies  gave  a  sigh  and  said — "  This  is  not 
my  son — oh,  no !  "  and  then  the  tears  came 
into  her  eyes  and  she  whipped  out  her 
handkerchief  and  presently  said  :  "  Gine- 
vra  ask  him — tell  him  why  we  came  !  Tell 
him  that  I  have  promised  not  to  talk  to 
him  in  English." 

The  younger  lady  explained  to  me  in 
fairly  fluent  French — the  French  of  an 
Englishwoman — that  Mrs.  Hyde  had  been 
seeking  news  of  her  son  for  nearly  three 
years  and  that  hearing  of  my  name  from 
178 


Friends  Out  of  the  Unknown 

Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Lancy,  she  had 
with  great  difficulty  obtained  permission  to 
visit  the  prison  in  order  to  satisfy  herself 
beyond  any  possibility  of  doubt,  as  to 
whether  it  was  her  son  who  was  there  or  not. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  madame,"  I  replied, 
"that  I  am  not  this  lady's  son,  though 
possibly  she  would  rather  find  him  any- 
where else  than  here." 

"  My  aunt  is  sorry  too,  for  she  has 
sought  her  son  for  a  long,  long  time  and 
suspense  is  very  hard  to  bear,"  the  young 
lady  said  sorrowfully. 

"  Ask  him  whether  he  is  any  connection 
of  the  Hydes  of  Pakenfield,  Ginevra,"  put 
in  the  older  lady  eagerly. 

The  lady  whose  name  was  Ginevra  re- 
peated the  question  in  French.  I  replied 
in  the  same  tongue — which,  by  that  time, 
I  spoke  fluently,  and  owing  to  my  compan- 
ionship with  De  Lancy,  with  a  perfect  ac- 
cent— that  to  my  knowledge  I  was  not  in 
anyway  connected  with  the  family  at  Paken- 
field. 

"  But  he  is  a  gentleman,  Ginevra,''  the 
old  lady  broke  in. 

179 


Grip 

I  admitted  that  I  had  been  born  of  a 
respectable  position  in  life. 

"Ask  him  what  he  did  to  get  himself 
here,  Ginevra?" 

"  Madame,"  I  said  bowing,  after  the 
question  had  duly  been  repeated  to  me  in 
French,  "  I  had  the  misfortune  to  knock  the 
skull  of  a  gens  de police  against  the  wall,  and, 
to  my  regret,  I  knocked  it  a  little  too  hard." 

"  What,  you  killed  him  ?  "  exclaimed  the 
young  lady,  asking  a  question  for  the  first 
time  on  her  own  initiative. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  did,"  I  returned 
politely. 

I  did  not  altogether  see  why  she  should 
want  to  be  asking  me,  whom  she  had  never 
seen  before,  questions  about  my  purely  pri- 
vate concerns.  However,  she  repeated  both 
question  and  answer  to  the  aunt,  who  made 
such  a  sturdy  comment  thereon,  that  I  felt 
quite  sorry  that  I  could  not  claim  some  sort 
of  kinship  with  her. 

"  Pah,"    she   remarked  scornfully.      "  I 

have   no  doubt  that   the  policeman  richly 

deserved  it.     Policemen  should  not  be  so 

keen  of  interfering  with  gentlemen.     I  am 

180 


Friends  Out  of  the  Unknown 

sure  my  poor  Charley  would  very  much 
have  resented  a  policeman's  interfering 
with  him.  Tell  this  young  gentleman, 
Ginevra,  that  I  sympathize  with  him  in 
his  present  situation  very  much,  and  that 
if,  when  he  is  free,  I  can  do  anything  to 
serve  him,  he  need  only  write  to  me  at 
Pakenfield,  Gloucester,  and  I  am  at  his 
service,  for  my  dear  boy's  sake." 

I  waited  until  all  this,  or  rather  I  should 
say  the  latter  part  of  this,  had  been  trans- 
lated to  me  before  I  bowed  and  said  that  I 
would  remember  her  kindness  with  grati- 
tude all  my  life. 

"  And  tell  him,  Ginevra,"  the  old  lady 
went  on,  "  that  for  my  dear  boy's  sake,  my 
dear  boy  who  has  the  same  name  as  his,  I 
would  like  to  make  him  a  present — it  will 
come  useful  to  him  here."  As  she  spoke 
she  held  out  a  purse  of  dark  blue  silk  with 
gold  rings  and  gold  tassels  at  either  end, 
through  the  meshes  of  which  gold  was  also 
shining.  I  made  a  gesture  of  refusal. 
"  God  bless  you  for  your  kind  thought, 
madame,  but  I  cannot  take  money  from 
you,"  I  said  huskily. 

181 


Grip 

"  Nay,  but  take  it.  It  will  be  a  com- 
fort to  my  aunt  and  to  her  friend  who 
sent  her  here,  to  feel  that  you  have  not 
refused  the  only  gift  it  was  possible 
to  make  you  just  now.  Do  not  refuse 
her." 

I  hesitated  and  looked  towards  the  Com- 
mandant for  instructions.  He  caught  my 
look  and  perhaps  he  remembered  that  I 
was  a  highly  commended  prisoner.  Any- 
way, he  put  up  his  hand  with  a  debonnaire 
gesture — Frenchmen  always  play  up  before 
the  women — and  said  gruffly,  "  But  cer- 
tainly, take  the  little  gift  the  lady  is  kind 
enough  to  offer  you.  Mon  Dieu,  but  our 
for  fats  are  getting  too  scrupulous  for  ex- 
pression." 

I  thrust  the  dainty  purse  into  my  bosom 
and  bowed  low  to  the  old  lady.  "  Will  you 
say  to  madame,"  I  said  to  the  one  who 
was  called  Ginevra,  "  that  her  kindness 
touches  me  to  the  quick.  When  I  am  free, 
I  will  seek  her  out,  for  I  may  be  able  to 
serve  her.  Meantime,  T  am  as  much  her 
servant  as  a  prisoner  at  the  Bagne  can 
be." 

182 


Friends  Out  of  the  Unknown 

"  Very  prettily  turned  for  an  English- 
man," remarked  the  Commandant  with  a 
sneer.  "  You  can  go." 


183 


Grip 


CHAPTER  XV. 

PARTED. 

DE  LANCY'S   eyes   were  blazing  with 
excitement  when  we  got  back  to  our 
own  quarters  again  and  he  turned  upon  me 
almost  fiercely.     "  Hyde,"  he  said  eagerly, 
"  my  wife  made  that  purse." 

"  Very  likely,"  I  answered.  "  But  wait 
till  we  are  alone  and  unobserved  so  that 
we  can  examine  it.  It  is  likely  enough 
that  we  may  discover  some  clue  hidden 
away  to  tell  us.  If  we  look  at  it  now,  we 
may  soon  find  ourselves  done  out  of  it  all." 

"  Anyway,  the  money  is  yours — but  if  she 
made  it,  Hyde,  I  would  like  to  have  the 
purse." 

"  It  is  all  yours."     I  returned. 

"  No — no.  I  won't  have  a  penny  of  it, 
not  so  much  as  a  penny,"  he  declared 
eagerly. 

"  For  the  other,  wait  till  all  is  quiet." 
184 


Parted 

We  talked  a  good  deal  of  the  poor  dis- 
appointed lady  who  was  seeking  her  son, 
and  De  Lancy  remarked  on  the  strange- 
ness of  our  names  being  so  precisely  simi- 
lar. "  Your  age  too,"  he  added. 

"  Hyde  is  a  common  enough  name  in 
England,"  I  said,  with  an  assumption  of 
complete  indifference.  "  And  Charleses 
grow  like  blackberries  on  a  bramble-bush." 

At  last  when  the  Bagne  was  all  fairly 
quiet  and  we  were  as  free  from  observa- 
tion as  we  ever  were,  I  drew  the  purse 
from  my  bosom,  and  taking  great  care  that 
the  coins  which  it  contained  should  not 
chink  one  against  another,  examined  the 
contents.  As  I  expected  there  was  a  roll 
of  gold  Napoleons  at  one  end,  and  at  the 
other  a  little  case  of  gilt  cardboard,  with  a 
Napoleon  stuck  at  either  end,  so  as  to 
form  a  tiny  receptacle  between.  "  This  is 
for  you,"  I  said,  handing  it  to  him. 

He  wrenched  it  open  with  eager  fingers 
and  drew  out  a  letter  closely  written  on 
very  thin  paper.  "  A  letter,"  he  said  in  his 
most  eager  voice.  "  I  knew  it.  And  with- 
out surveillance." 


Grip 

He  read  it,  nay,  devoured  it  would  be  a 
better  word,  giving  me  bits  of  information 
as  he  read.  "  Yes — she  worked  it  herself 
— I  knew  it,  Hyde,  I  knew  it,"  and  then 
the  poor  fool  fell  to  kissing  the  silken  purse 
as  if  it  had  been  a  living  thing  and  could 
feel  and  return  his  caresses. 

"  And  she  says — "  he  went  on,  "  that 
she  and  Mrs.  Hyde  have  filled  the  purse 
between  them  so  that  we  may  share  and 
share  alike.  They  have  sent  as  much  as 
they  dared;  they  were  afraid  to  excite 
suspicion  by  putting  in  too  much." 

I  had  already  counted  the  money  over 
and  found  that  there  were  twenty  Napo- 
leons in  my  hand.  Twenty  Napoleons."  I 
said — "  Well,  I  haven't  had  a  fairing  for 
many  a  long  year  and  I  never  thought  to 
have  another — Some  day,  I  will  pay  that 
handsome  old  lady  back  again  in  one  form 
if  not  in  another,  that  is  if  she  lives  until 
I  get  out  of  this,  which  I  must  say  she 
looks  like  doing." 

Those  twenty  Napoleons  made  a  vast 
difference  to  De  Lancy.  For  myself  I  was 
strong  and  hardy.  I  was  perfectly  content 
186 


Parted 

to  go  on  as  I  had  done  for  three  years 
past. 

But  he  had  never  got  used  to  the  food, 
and  indeed  ate  so  little  that  it  was  a  wonder 
to  me  that  he  was  able  to  keep  body  and 
soul  together.  If  one  had  money,  it  was 
possible  to  purchase  a  few  luxuries  and, 
much  against  his  inclination,  I  insisted  on 
all  the  money  being  put  by  for  him. 

"  You  are  piling  up  my  debt  to  an  un- 
conscionable height,  Hyde,"  he  said  on  the 
first  day  that  we  paid  a  visit  to  the  canteen 
and  I  resolutely  refused  to  touch  a  morsel 
of  the  sausage  which  we  had  bought. 

"  I'll  ask  you  to  pay  your  debt  in  full 
some  day,"  I  said  quietly. 

"  And  I'll  do  it  with  all  my  heart,"  he  re- 
joined quickly. 

I  was  not  so  sure  of  that,  but  it  suited 
me  best  to  say  nothing.  In  truth,  I  don't 
think  just  about  this  time  that  I  hated  him 
as  virulently  as  I  had  done  before.  It  was 
an  effort  to  me  at  times  to  remember 
that  he  was  in  very  truth  my  enemy,  that 
he  had  stolen  my  sweetheart  from  me, 
that  I  had  sworn  sooner  or  later  to  have 

I87 


Grip 

his  blood  unless  he  should  happen  to  have 
mine. 

However,  be  that  as  it  might,  the  instinct 
of  preserving  this  man  alive  was  very  strong 
in  me  and  was  ever  present  in  my  mind, 
and  I  continued  to  save  him  and  to  shield 
him  to  the  greatest  extent  that  was  in  my 
power.  I  have  often  thought  since  those 
times,  that  without  the  twenty  Napoleons 
which  Margaret  and  Mrs.  Hyde  had  sent 
us,  De  Lancy  would  never,  never  could, 
have  got  through  the  year  which  followed 
on  the  visit  of  the  two  ladies.  I  was  the 
purse-keeper,  and  I  spun  the  money  out  as 
far  as  I  possibly  could,  making  a  rule  of 
never  spending  more  than  a  franc  a  day, 
and  if  our  mess  was  fairly  good,  of  not 
even  spending  as  much  as  that. 

And,  after  all,  I  need  not  have  been  so 
careful,  for  just  at  the  end  of  the  year — 
that  is  my  fifth  and  rather  more  than  De 
Lancy's  third  year  of  imprisonment — we  re- 
ceived a  notification  late  one  evening  to 
the  effect  that  De  Lancy  was  ordered  to 
attend  at  the  Commandant's  bureau  at  ten 
o'clock  the  following  morning,  and  that  he 
1 88 


Parted 

was  not  to  go  to  work  with  the  rest  of  our 
gang  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  day.  That 
meant  that  I  also  was  to  have  a  holiday,  a 
circumstance  to  which  I  was  by  no  means 
averse.  The  order,  however,  had  been  suf- 
ficient to  throw  De  Lancy  into  a  fever  of 
curiosity  and  apprehension. 

"  Something  has  happened — what  can  it 
be  ?  "  he  said  at  least  twenty  times  as  we  lay 
on  our  bed  of  planks  that  night. 

"  Perhaps  another  lady  seeking  a  rela- 
tive," I  answered.  "  If  so  let  us  hope  that 
she  has  come  armed  with  a  little  fairing  like 
the  last  one." 

"  Hyde,  you  are  a  thorough  Englishman," 
he  exclaimed,  "  as  mercenary  as  you  are 
high." 

"  We  have  found  those  Napoleons  very 
useful,"  I  suggested. 

"  We!"  he  repeated  with  scorn.  "Yes, 
a  great  deal  those  Napoleons  have  done  for 
you.  Why,  every  one  that  we  have  spent  has 
gone  down  my  gullet  in  some  form  or  other." 

"We  won't  split  straws  about  it,"  I 
said,  for  there  was  no  gainsaying  the  truth 
of  his  remark. 

189 


Grip 

"  Still,  I  wonder — I  wonder — Hyde,  do 
you  think  that  my  wife " 

"  Comrade,  I  cannot  think — I  know 
nothing.  Why  not  go  to  sleep  and  wait  till 
morning  to  see  what  morning  brings  ?  " 

I  made  this  and  similar  suggestions  a 
good  many  times,  but  I  might  as  well  have 
talked  to  the  boards  on  which  we  lay,  to 
the  chain  which  bound  us  together  or  the 
lamp  swinging  over  our  heads.  Sleep 
seemed  to  be  miles  away  from  him  and,  be- 
ing of  a  highly  nervous  and  excitable  tem- 
perament, he  made  it  keep  miles  away  from 
my  eyes  also.  And  even  when  morning 
came  and  the  rest  of  the  formats  went  off 
to  their  day's  work,  we  had  some  weary 
hours  to  get  through  before  we  were  due 
to  present  ourselves  at  the  Commandant's 
bureau. 

However,  the  hour  at  last  drew  near  and 
we  were  escorted  to  the  bureau  by  a  garde- 
chiourme,  not  our  friend  Pierre  Lebrun  but 
another.  Pierre  being,  as  was  usual  with 
him  at  that  hour,  out  in  the  stoneyard  with 
our  gang. 

We  had  never  been  in  the  bureau  since 
190 


Parted 

the  visit  of  Mrs.  Hyde  and  the  young  lady 
called  Ginevra,  and  I  had  almost  to  hold 
De  Lancy  up  as  we  went  along.  I  do  not 
know  what  he  expected — his  wife — strange 
visitors — some  plot  to  ruin  him  and 
lengthen  his  term  of  imprisonment — even 
the  guillotine  itself.  I  saw  at  a  glance  as 
we  entered  that  no  strangers  were  present. 
I  felt  also  that  we  were  in  for  no  unpleas- 
antness ;  somehow  the  experienced  for(at 
learns  to  know  the  atmosphere  of  his  Bagne 
and  the  countenances  of  the  officials  as  an 
old  mariner  learns  to  know  the  set  of  the 
tides  and  the  signs  of  the  heavens. 

The  Commandant  was  sitting  at  his  large 
table  and  he  looked  up  as  we  entered  and 
saluted  him.  He  did  not  this  time  go 
through  the  pretence  of  asking  our  names, 
but  addressed  himself  immediately  to  my 
comrade. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  he  said  quietly, 
"  his  Majesty  has  been  pleased  to  send  me 
instructions  for  your  immediate  release,  he 
having  bestowed  upon  you  his  full  and  free 
pardon  for  the  offences  for  which  you  were 
sent  here.  Your  irons  will  be  struck  off 
191 


Grip 

now,  and  when  you  have  made  your  toilette, 
you  will  be  free  to  go  when  it  pleases  you." 

If  I  had  not  been  blessed  with  a  quick 
eye  and  a  ready  hand,  De  Lancy  would 
have  fallen  to  the  ground,  for  he  reeled  and 
fell  over  against  me.  I  caught  him  in  a 
firm  grasp  and  steadied  him  until  the  first 
great  shock  was  over.  The  Commandant 
sat  watching  him  not  unkindly. 

"  Give  him  some  of  that  water,"  he  said 
to  me,  pointing  to  the  bottle  of  water  which, 
with  a  glass,  stood  on  the  table  at  his  elbow. 

After  a  gulp  or  two  of  the  water,  De 
Lancy  pulled  himself  together  again. 
"  Your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  salute 
to  the  Commandant,  "but  may  I  ask  to  see 
my  pardon  ?  " 

"  Certainly — it  is  here,"  and  the  Com- 
mandant gave  him  a  large  official-looking 
document  from  which  depended  several 
seals. 

De  Lancy  read  it  through  and  then 
handed  it  back  again."  I  am  very  sen- 
sible of  his  Majesty's  clemency,"  he  said 
simply. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,  I  congratulate  you 

192 


Parted 

on  your  recovered  freedom,"  said  the  Com- 
mandant with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "  You 
will  now  go  and  have  your  fetters  removed. 
As  for  you,"  looking  at  me  and  holding  the 
point  of  his  middle  finger  against  the  centre 
of  his  forehead  as  if  that  would  help  him 
to  fix  my  identity.  "  Your  name  is " 

"  Charles  Hyde,  mon  Commandant"  I 
replied. 

"  Yes,  ah,  yes ;  and  you  are  a  commended 
format." 

"  Yes,  mon  Commandant!' 

"  Yes — an  affair  of  a  man  who  struck  an 
officer  ? " 

"Yes,  mon  Commandant" 

"  Good  !  Then  how  many  years'  service 
have  you  ? " 

"Five  years." 

"  Your  term  ?  " 

"  Fifteen  years." 

"  Your  crime  ?  " 

"  I  killed  a  gens  de  police  in  a  scrimmage, 
mon  Commandant ;  he  arrested  me  for  an- 
other." 

"Ah,  yes — I  remember.  Well — "  turn- 
ing to  our  warder — "  direct  that  this  man, 


Grip 

Charles  Hyde,  be  put  on  the  half  chain, 
and  also  that  he  be  passed  into  the  salles 
d'tpreuve" 

As  I  have  said  before,  if  I  had  learned 
nothing  else  during  my  sojourn  in  the 
Bagne,  I  had  certainly  acquired  perfect 
control  over  myself.  If  De  Lancy  had  re- 
ceived any  sudden  news  such  as  being 
given  a  change  of  life  which  would  have 
alleviated  at  least  half  of  his  woes,  he 
would  have  staggered  and  shown  signs  of 
the  most  tempestuous  emotion.  On  my  part 
I  was  able  to  bow  profoundly  and  to  ex- 
press my  thanks  in  plain  and  unemotional 
language. 

"  You  have  fairly  earned  it,"  said  the 
Commandant.  He  dismissed  us  then  and 
we  followed  our  escort  back  across  the 
great  square  in  order  that  De  Lancy  might 
have  his  chain  taken  off. 

"  Hyde,"  he  said,  "  I  have  my  wife  to 
thank  for  this.  There  has  been  a  change 
of  dynasty,  and  Louis  Philippe  sits  on  the 
throne  now.  Margaret  has  gone  to  him  at 
once  and  worked  on  him  till  she  got  me 
out  of  this." 

194 


Parted 

"  How  do  you  know  there  has  been  a 
change  ? " 

"  The  pardon  is  made  out  in  the  name 
of  his  Majesty  Louis  Philippe,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Hyde,  you  know  what  I  shall 
do  when  I  get  out  ? " 

"  Seek  your  wife." 

"  My  wife,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  will  be  at 
yonder  gate  to  receive  me." 

His  faith  in  her  was  divine  ! 

"  No,  my  first  and  last  thought  till  we 
meet  again  will  be  to  work  night  and  day 
for  your  pardon.  I  will  not  leave  a  stone 
unturned — you  shall  never  be  out  of  my 
thoughts.  Not  that  anything  I  could  ever 
do  even  in  fifty  years  could  repay  what  you 
have  done  for  me  here,  or  what  you  have 
been  to  me.  And  now,  my  friend  and 
comrade,  our  time  together  is  very  short. 
Where  will  you  meet  me  when  you  are 
free  ?  Will  you  come  straight  to  the 
Chateau  St.  Etienne  ?  " 

"  Not  to  your  house.  No,  anywhere  but 
there,"  I  said  hurriedly. 

"  I  quite  understand  !  I  felt  that  way 
too.  Hyde,  I  have  never  told  you  all  these 

'95 


Grip 

weary,  weary  years,  because  the  very  words 
would  have  seared  my  tongue  as  with  a  hot 
iron,  but  now  that  all  is  at  an  end,  and  I 
am  a  free  man  again,  it  does  not  matter  so 
much.  But  on  our  way  here,  they  brought 
us  through  my  own  town — St.  Etienne. 
Yes,  1,  the  Suzerain  of  the  place,  was 
marched  through  one  of  a  gang  of  formats 
— Mon  Dieu,  through  the  ranks  of  my 
own  people." 

"  And  your  people  ?  " 

"  They  knelt  to  see  me  pass,  praying  anu 
weeping  for  me  !  Now,  I  go  back  among 
them.  But  you — it  is  possible  that  I  may 
not  know  the  day  of  your  release.  I  don't 
want  to  see  Toulon  again.  Will  you  then 
write  to  me  at  the  Chateau  St.  Etienne, 
Ardeche,  and  meet  me  that  day  month  at 
the  Hotel  du  Soleil  d'Or  at  Aries  !  " 

"  At  the  Hotel  du  Soleil  d'Or,  at  Aries," 
I  repeated,  "  I  will  be  there." 
196 


Out  of  Sight 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

OUT  OF   SIGHT. 

I  PARTED  from  De  Lancy  on  the  as- 
surance that  I  would  meet  him  one 
month  from  the  day  of  my  leaving  the 
Bagne  at  the  Hotel  du  Soleil  d'Or  at 
Aries.  When  he  was  fairly  gone  and  I 
realized  that  I  was  as  half  a  man,  for 
the  effect  of  the  half-chain  was  most 
extraordinary  for  a  few  days,  that  I  had 
parted  from  him  who  had  been  my  friend 
and  enemy  in  one,  I  knew  that  I  ought  not 
to  have  let  him  go  out  in  complete  igno- 
rance of  our  real  relations!  And  yet,  it 
had  seemed  impossible  to  tell  him  just  at 
that  moment. 

Besides,  there  was  Margaret  to  think  of, 

for  if  Margaret  knew  that  I  was  a  prisoner 

at  the  Bagne  of  Toulon,    she  would  most 

certainly  write  home  at  once  and  give  in- 

197 


Grip 

formation  of  my  whereabouts  to  my  family 
That,  for  many  reasons,  and  chiefly  that 
my  father  might  be  spared  the  pain  and 
annoyance  which  such  knowledge  would 
give  him,  I  was  most  anxious  to  avoid,  so 
I  consoled  myself  with  the  thought  that, 
after  all,  I  had  done  what  was  for  the  best 
under  the  circumstances. 

And  to  say  besides  yet  once  more — I  must 
confess  that  I  had  never  liked  De  Lancy  so 
well  or  felt  my  hatred  so  faltering  as  I  did 
on  the  morning  when  I  watched  his  fetters 
being  taken  off  and  then  saw  him  walk 
away,  his  eyes  swimming  in  tears  and  he 
ever  turning  back  to  wave  his  adieux  to 
me.  If  I  had  spoken  then,  I  think  that 
the  words  would  have  choked  me. 

How  much  I  missed  De  Lancy  I  am  sure 
no  words  could  express.  I  had  missed  the 
boy,  Jean  Leroy,  but  his  death  was  in  a 
great  measure  a  comfort  and  a  relief  to  me. 
After  De  Lancy's  departure,  I  know  now 
that  if  I  had  been  given  another  chain-com- 
panion I  should  most  likely  have  foregone 
all  idea  of  revenge,  have  run  amuck  and 
probably  ended  my  days  under  the  guillo- 
198 


Out  of  Sight 

tine.  As  it  was,  the  relief  of  being  only  on 
the  half-chain,  which  scarcely  incommoded 
my  movements  at  all,  and  also  of  being 
passed  into  the  sallcs  d'epreuve,  where  I 
had  not  only  more  liberty,  but  also  a  choice 
of  work,  was  exceedingly  great  and  it  had 
come  at  a  time  when  I  most  needed  dis- 
traction. 

Still  I  was  in  prison.  I  was  safe  and 
sound  in  the  Bagne  of  Toulon,  and  I  had 
ten  years  yet  to  serve  ere  I  should  be  free. 
And  let  me  tell  you,  ten  years  can  some- 
times seem  a  much  longer  time  than  fifteen. 
On  the  day  of  my  sentence,  fifteen  years 
had  seemed  like  a  lifetime ;  when  De 
Lancy  was  set  at  liberty,  and  I  thought 
over  the  years  which  would  probably  have 
to  go  by  ere  I  should  see  him  again,  ten 
years  was  like  an  eternity. 

But  this  phase  of  mind  did  not  last  very 
long  with  me.  After  a  few  hours  of  de- 
pression I  pulled  myself  together,  remem- 
bering that  I  had  not  been  called  "  the  Bull- 
dog "  for  nothing,  that  I  had  determinedly 
set  myself  to  get  through  this  particular 
purgatory  and  to  attain  a  certain  object. 


Grip 

Now  that  I  had  won  through  the  most  bit- 
ter and  difficult  part  of  all,  I  would  not 
turn  back.  I  was  no  craven. 

So  I  set  myself  to  patiently  await  the 
coming  of  a  letter  from  De  Lancy.  the  first 
letter  I  should  have  received  for  more  than 
five  years.  But  it  did  not  come — it  never 
came !  I  had  no  word,  no  sign  from  him 
whom  I  had  saved  and  shielded  for  three 
years,  whom  I  had  worked  for,  toiled  for, 
almost  lived  for,  for  whom  I  had  denied  my- 
self food,  rest  and  many  a  trifling  advantage 
which  I  have  not  thought  it  worth  while  to 
detail  in  this  story. 

Still,  I  waited  patiently  until  three  and 
then  six  months  had  gone  by,  but  not  a  word 
or  a  sign  came  to  me  from  the  outside  world. 
I  did  not  dare  to  write  to  De  Lancy  for  the 
handwriting  would  have  betrayed  me  to 
Margaret,  and  I  did  not  choose  to  ask  one 
of  the  scribes  in  the  Bagne  to  write  for  me. 
So  I  waited  and  waited,  but  nothing  came 
and  six  months  went  by,  then  nine  months, 
then  a  year  slipped  past  and  I  began  to 
realize  that  De  Lancy  had  forgotten  me. 

I  think  if  he  had  remembered  the  past 
200 


Out  of  Sight 

sufficiently  well  to  write  to  me  as  often  as  I 
might  receive  a  letter,  that  I  should  have 
let  the  old  hatred  of  the  past  six  years  sink 
into  oblivion.  As  it  was,  I  made  no  fresh 
friendships  now  that  I  was  entirely  on  my 
own  responsibility,  and  the  utter  and  in- 
tense loneliness  of  my  life  was  almost  in- 
supportable. 

During  all  my  leisure  hours,  and  they 
were  somewhat  more  frequent  now  that 
I  had  worked  my  way  through  the  garde 
fatigue,  my  thoughts  ran  chiefly  upon  De 
Lancy's  life  with  Margaret,  my  Margaret. 
I  pictured  to  myself  the  meeting  between 
the  two,  the  eager  questions  which  Mar- 
garet had  asked  of  his  life  in  the  Bagne,  of 
the  privations  he  had  suffered,  the  hard- 
ships he  had  undergone,  the  humiliations 
he  had  endured  ;  I  pictured  how  she  had 
asked  him  of  his  friendships,  and  especially 
of  the  Charles  Hyde  who  had  been  his 
chain-comrade,  and  I  could  almost  hear  De 
Lancy  saying  in  his  fascinatingly  well-bred 
way  that  he  must  contrive  to  do  something 
to  serve  him. 

And  it  had  stopped  there  !  It  had  gone  no 
201 


Grip 

further !  Ease,  and  wealth,  and  luxury,  and 
the  companionship  of  the  wife  he  idolized 
had  completely  blotted  out  the  friendship 
of  his  days  of  wretchedness.  I  realized  the 
truth  at  last,  and  the  bitterness  of  the 
draught  was  far  more  bitter  than  any  cup 
which  had  ever  before  been  held  to  my  lips  ! 
And  mingled  with  my  bitterness  was  a  feel- 
ing of  intense  and,  alas,  unavailable  regret 
that  I  had  had  this  man  in  my  power  and  I 
had  let  him  go  !  Why,  why,  had  I  been 
such  a  fool  ?  Why,  for  the  sake  of  a  nicety 
of  honor  which  he  would  have  been  quite 
incapable  of  appreciating,  had  he  known 
it,  had  I  preserved  and  sheltered  this  man 
so  as  to  let  him  go  scot-free  back  to  the  joy 
of  the  happiness  which  he  had  stolen  from 
me  ?  Fool  that  I  was,  regrets  were  useless 
now  that  the  bird  had  flown  from  the  cage. 
I  have  said  that  when  De  Lancy  had 
passed  out  of  the  Bagne,  my  old  enmity 
was  almost  dead.  Ah,  yes,  but  "  almost "  is 
a  word  of  uncertain  quality.  As  folk  say, 
"  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope ; "  so 
while  there  is  a  faint  vestige  of  an  old 
hatred  left,  there  is  always  a  chance  of  its 
202 


Out  of  Sight 
I 

springing  into  new  life  and  flourishing  more 
vigorously  than  ever.  So  with  mine.  In 
the  loneliness  and  desolation  of  my  almost 
hopeless  life,  with  hot-headed  ruin  behind 
me  and  an  eternity  of  dreariness,  as  it 
seemed,  in  front  of  me,  my  hatred  which 
had  almost  faded  away  of  inanition  afore- 
time, took  on  new  life  as  it  were  and  throve 
and  throve  apace  until  it  possessed  me  far 
more  fiercely  and  uncontrollably  than  ever 
it  had  done  before. 

How  I  hated  him  !  How  bitter,  how 
many  were  my  unavailing  regrets  that  I  had 
not  let  him  come  to  grief  as  I  might  often 
have  done.  I  had  saved  his  life  over  and 
over  again.  Twice  I  had  pulled  him  with 
a  mighty  jerk  from  under  a  great  block  of 
stone,  which,  had  I  not  saved  him  so, 
would  have  crushed  him  to  a  shapeless 
mass.  At  least  a  dozen  times  I  had  talked 
him  into  quiet  endurance  and  had  so  saved 
him  the  bastonnade,  and  even  the  guil- 
lotine itself.  And  once  I  had,  by  a  great 
effort,  prevented  a  falling  log  from  lighting 
upon  him  by  receiving  the  main  part  of  the 
weight  upon  my  own  shoulder.  That  had 
203 


Grip 

cost  me  a  week  of  sleepless  nights  and  days 
of  absolute  torture.  And  it  all  counted  for 
nothing  with  him  now  !  Bah  !  the  ingrate  ! 
But  I  had  not  been  nicknamed  "  the  Bull- 
dog "  for  nothing,  and  after  the  first  smart 
of  the  new  pain  had  passed  off,  I  enter- 
tained no  notion  of  letting  my  anger  and  my 
disgust  get  the  better  of  me  and  unfit  me  to 
work  my  way  through.  No,  no,  I  held  my- 
self more  carefully  in  check  than  ever.  I 
lived  entirely  so  as  to  fit  myself  against  the 
time  when  I  should  be  free.  I  never  spent 
one  penny  of  the  money  of  which  I  was 
possessed,  some  of  it  being  part  of  the  little 
hoard  which  I  had  disbursed  so  carefully 
on  my  comrade's  behalf,  and  some  of  my  own 
small  earnings  in  my  leisure  hours,  when 
we  were  allowed  to  work  for  our  own  bene- 
fit. I  had  always  been  what  we  used  to 
call  at  home  in  Yorkshire  a  "  dab  "  at  whit- 
tling things  with  a  knife  and  my  old  ac- 
complishment stood  me  in  good  stead 
then,  for  it  enabled  me  to  make  quite  a 
little  store  of  toys  for  disposal  in  the  bazaar 
of  the  Bagne,  and  every  farthing  that  I 
made  I  carefully  hoarded,  in  order  that  I 
204 


Out  of  Sight 

might  have  enough  money  to  carry  me 
straight  to  Paris,  there  to  fit  myself  out  as 
a  gentleman  once  more,  to  remove  as  far 
as  was  possible  any  traces  of  the  format 
which  might  have  stamped  themselves  more 
or  less  indelibly  upon  me,  and  most  impor- 
tant of  all,  to  put  myself  once  more  under 
M.  Brisso  and  to  take  a  daily  lesson  in  his 
fencing-school. 

In  this  way  two  more  years  went  by.  It 
was  then  eight  years  since  I  had  been  sent 
to  the  Bagne,  and  just  three  years  since  De 
Lancy  and  I  had  parted.  I  had  got  over 
the  half-way  house  and  every  day  that  went 
by  would  bring  me  nearer  and  nearer  to 
freedom  and  a  new  life. 

But  I  was  not,  thanks  to  the  Almighty, 
destined  to  work  out  the  rest  of  my  term. 
I  was  sent  for  one  morning  to  the  Com- 
mandant's bureau  and  went  thither  in  charge 
of  a  garde-chiourme.  The  Commandant 
was  not  there  when  we  arrived  and  we 
waited  some  twenty  minutes  or  so  until  he 
came.  I  heard  my  escort  discussing  him 
in  an  undertone  with  the  two  men  on  duty 
at  the  door  of  the  bureau ! 
205 


Grip 

"  H'm — it's  always  the  same  now — wait — 
wait — wait.  It  is  a  different  thing  to  the 
old  Commandant  who  was  the  soul  of 
punctuality.  This  fellow  will  order  you  to 
be  at  a  certain  place  at  a  certain  hour,  come 
half  an  hour  late  and  blame  you  for  wast- 
ing the  time  of  the  formats,  del,  there  is 
no  being  even  with  him." 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  bad  day  for  the  Bagne 
when  the  old  Commandant  was  pensioned 
off.  They  say  he  was  considered  too  easy 
with  his  formats,  poor  devils." 

"  I've  heard  that  too  !  Ah,  well,  well, 
it's  no  use  sighing  for  the  days  that  can 
never  come  back  again.  Ah,  here  he  is," 
and  he  drew  himself  up  to  the  salute,  as 
the  Commandant  turned  in  at  the  door. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  been 
brought  into  personal  contact  with  the  new 
Commandant,  although  the  old  one  had 
been  gone  for  more  than  two  years,  aye, 
more  nearly  three,  if  my  memory  serves  me. 
He  was  tall  and  black  and  scowling,  with  a 
great  deal  of  swagger  about  him,  such  as 
is  often  put  down  to  the  military  man  and 
which  you  seldom  or  never  see  in  the  sol- 
206 


Out  of  Sight 

dier  !     He  looked  at  me  sharply  and  asked 
the  garde-chiourme  why  I  was  there  ? 

"  This  man — Sharl  'Yde,  man  Command- 
ant; you  sent  for  him,"  was  the  man's 
reply. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes  ;  bring  him  in." 

We  followed  him  into  the  bureau  and  he 
sat  down  in  the  same  big  arm-chair  as  the 
other  Commandant  had  done  on  my  last 
visit  there. 

After  a  moment's  silence  he  looked  up 
at  me  and  said  sharply — "  Your  name  ?  " 

"  Charles  Hyde,  man  Commandant. " 

"  English  ?  " 

"Yes,  mon  Commandant" 

"  Your  term  here." 

" Fifteen  years,  mon  Commandant" 

"  You  have  served — ?  " 

"  Eight." 

"  This  man's  record  ? "  said  he,  turn- 
ing to  the  clerk  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the 
table. 

The  clerk  consulted  a  big  book  in  silence 
for  a  minute  or  two  ;  the  Commandant 
meanwhile  tapped  restlessly  on  the  table 
with  his  ringer-tips. 

207 


Grip 

"  Charles  'Yde — English — age  thirty-four 
— term  fifteen  years,  unblemished  record — 
highly  commended  during  second  year  of 
term  for  preventing  his  fellow-prisoner,  a 
noted  bad  character  from  escaping.  That 
is  all,  monsieur." 

"  H'm  !  Well — I  have  news  for  you. 
His  Majesty  has  been  pleased  to  pardon 
you." 

"  Sir  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  You  are  free  as  soon  as  your  chain  can 
be  taken  off.  Take  care  that  you  don't 
find  yourself  sent  here  again." 

He  dismissed  me  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  and  the  garde-chiourme  twitched  at 
my  arm  that  I  should  go  out.  I  bowed  for 
the  last  time  to  the  Commandant,  but  he 
did  not  look  at  me  so  I  stumbled  out  into 
the  blinding  sunshine. 

"  You  are  not  very  keen  on  getting  away, 
hey  ?  "  was  the  remark  of  my  escort.  "  Man 
Dieu,  if  I  were  a  fine  fellow  like  you,  I 
would  make  all  the  haste  I  could  lest  the 
Commandant  finds  out  that  he  has  mistaken 
you  for  another." 

208 


A  Tryst 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  TRYST. 

I  WAS  not  very  long  in  getting  out  of 
the  Bagne  when  once  my  anklet 
was  off  and  I  was  free  of  the  chain 
which  I  had  worn  for  eight  years.  I  made 
no  adieux,  but  as  soon  as  I  was  outside  the 
gates  I  went  in  search  of  a  respectable  inn 
and  there  I  asked  for  a  room  and  a  tub  of 
hot  water.  How  I  enjoyed  my  bath  none 
but  myself  will  ever  know.  It  was  a  big 
tub,  given  to  me  in  a  great  wash-house  and 
probably  only  used  for  the  washing  of  linen. 
They  filled  it  almost  to  the  brim,  and  I  got 
into  it,  and  with  a  good  scrubbing-brush 
and  a  huge  lump  of  soap,  I  washed  years  of 
dirt  away. 

I    had    bought    linen    already,   enough 

change  for  a  week,  and  when  I  had  fully 

exhausted  the  luxury  of  the  great  tub,  I 

groomed   myself  well   down   and   arrayed 

14  209 


Grip 

myself  in  my  fresh  and  dainty  shirt,  which 
gave  me  a  sense  of  great  pleasure.  My 
clothes  were  stamped  with  a  look  of  the 
Bagne,  so  I  went  off  to  the  shop  of  a 
second-hand  dealer,  where,  after  a  good 
deal  of  trouble,  I  succeeded  in  finding  a 
suit  of  fine  brown  clothes  that  fitted  me  as 
if  they  had  been  made  for  me. 

Then  I  went  back  to  the  inn  and  dined, 
dined  sumptuously  off  a  great  beef-steak 
and  several  vegetables,  followed  by  an 
omelette,  which  somehow  reminded  me  of 
a  Yorkshire  pudding  at  its  best.  And,  after 
a  stroll  round  the  town,  I  went  to  bed ! 

All  the  day  I  had  been  looking  forward 
to  my  first  night  in  bed,  but,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  could  not  sleep  a  wink.  I  felt 
choked  and  smothered,  and,  at  last,  I  put  a 
blanket  on  the  floor  and  laid  on  that,  with 
the  hard  bolster  under  my  head.  I  have 
never  got  used  to  a  soft  pillow  since ! 

Even  then  I  did  not  sleep  half  as  well  as 
I  had  done  on  my  bed  of  planks  over  in  the 
Bagne,  and  I  determined,  as  my  bed  was  a 
matter  of  so  little  moment  to  me,  I  would 
push  on  to  Paris  as  fast  as  I  possibly  could. 


A  Tryst 

The  diligence  started  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning  and  I  was  so  lucky  as  to 
secure  a  seat  beside  the  driver.  I  contrived 
before  we  started  to  write  the  promised 
letter  to  De  Lancy.  Of  course  there  would 
have  been  no  difficulty  in  doing  that  had 
not  I  always  the  fear  before  me  of  betraying 
myself  to  Margaret  before  the  time  came. 
However,  by  dint  of  holding  my  pen  as 
I  had  never  held  it  before,  I  contrived  so  to 
disguise  my  handwriting  that  I  should  not 
have  known  it  myself ;  and  this  was  what  I 
wrote  :  "  I  left  the  Bagne  this  morning.  I 
will  be,  as  agreed,  at  the  Hotel  du  Soleil 
d'Or,  Aries,  this  day  month — the  25th  of 
September.  Charles  Hyde  !  " 

I  threw  the  pen  down  and,  as  I  dusted 
the  contents  of  the  sand-pot  over  the  words 
that  I  had  written,  I  told  myself  that  it  was 
probably  for  the  last  time  that  I  should 
sign  myself  by  the  name  which  had  been  as 
a  merciful  cloak  to  my  own  identity.  I 
hoped  so  with  all  my  heart. 

I  breathed  freely  as  the  diligence  started 
off  and  Toulon  was  soon  left  far  behind  us. 
I  only  looked  back  once,  as  a  man  might 

211 


Grip 

look  back  who  had  escaped  the  tortures  of 
hell.  And  from  that  moment  I  set  myself 
to  enjoy  every  moment  of  my  time.  Nothing 
escaped  my  notice  ;  every  tree,  hedge,  bird, 
beast,  and  cloud  that  came  within  my  ken 
had  each  and  all  a  story  to  tell, — a  story  of 
which  we  should  regard  as  the  greatest 
boon  of  all,  though  we  do  not  always  prize 
it  as  we  should  do,  a  story  of  liberty.  As 
we  went  we  passed  several  weary-looking 
wretches  tramping  along  towards  Paris. 
They  were  tired  and  footsore,  but  I  did  not 
pity  them.  They  were  free  !  Probably  they 
had  but  just  come  out  of  the  Bagne,  and,  if 
that  were  so,  they  were  too  happy  in  their 
freedom  to  mind  the  minor  miseries  of 
being  on  the  tramp  under  God's  sweet- 
smelling  sky ;  in  having  the  light  of  moon 
and  stars  instead  of  the  ghastly  lamp 
swinging  overhead  to  which  they  had  been 
used ;  in  having  all  the  sweet  sounds  and 
scents  of  the  blessed  open  country  in  place 
of  the  foul  air  with  which  the  Bagne  reeked. 
No,  no,  I  flung  each  of  such  a  franc  or 
two  to  help  him  on  his  way,  but  of  pity 
I  had  none.  I  was  too  full  myself  of 
212 


A  Tryst 

the  unspeakable  joy  and  blessing  of  free- 
dom. 

At  last  we  got  to  Paris.  By  that  time  I 
had  become  almost  used  to  sleeping  in  a 
bed  and  I  sought  out  a  modest  hotel  where 
I  could  bestow  myself  with  comfort  and 
economy,  for  I  had  yet  to  make  sure  that, 
after  a  lapse  of  eight  years,  my  draft  on  the 
bank  wherein  I  had  lodged  my  little  fortune, 
would  be  honored. 

However,  as  soon  as  I  showed  myself  in 
the  bank  I  saw  that  I  was  recognized  by 
those  who  had  known  me  before.  I  saw 
the  head  of  the  firm  and  in  confidence  I 
briefly  explained  my  reasons  for  not  having 
communicated  with  him  before.  I  found 
of  course,  that  my  money  had  grown  a  little 
by  reason  of  having  lain  idle  so  long,  and  I 
drew  a  cheque  for  fifty  pounds  and  went  off 
in  search  of  a  tailor  forthwith. 

From  him  I  ordered  several  suits  of 
clothes  and  I  also  purchased  other  neces- 
saries such  as  were  in  fashion.  I  let  my 
red  locks  grow  to  a  more  ordinary  length 
than  had  been  the  mode  in  the  Bagne  and  I 
was  at  no  little  pains  to  try  to  remove  as  far 
213 


Grip 

as  possible  the  traces  of  my  long  spell  of  a 
rough  life ;  indeed  after  a  couple  of  days 
my  dressing-table  was  as  littered  with 
various  washes  and  scents  and  soaps  as  if 
I  had  been  a  pretty  young  lady  just  intro- 
duced into  the  gay  world  instead  of  being, 
as  I  was,  a  great  hulking  fellow  lately 
released  from  the  Bagne  of  Toulon. 

During  the  whole  of  my  eight  years  of 
prison-life,  I  had  never  once  seen  myself,  so 
that  I  do  not  actually  know  what  I  looked 
like  then.  But  I  do  know  that  after  I  had 
been  a  week  in  Paris  and  had  got  myself 
into  a  suit  of  clothes  for  which  I  had  been 
measured  and  fitted,  when  I  had  been 
washed  and  scrubbed  and  groomed  until  I 
was  as  clean  and  smart  as  a  new  pin,  I 
presented  as  personable  an  appearance  as 
any  man  could  wish  for.  I  was  no  beauty 
— I  had  never,  as  old  William,  the  head- 
keeper,  had  bluntly  put  it,  had  any  beauty 
to  answer  for — but  I  was  something  to  look 
at,  all  the  same.  There  was  only  one  point 
which  really  troubled  me — it  was  that  my 
hands  were  so  rough  and  coarse,  though 
nothing  to  what  they  had  been  in  the  early 
214 


A  Tryst 

days  of  my  time  at  Toulon.  However,  that 
was  but  a  small  •matter.  I  bought  gloves  of 
a  size  or  two  larger  than  I  had  been  used 
to  wear  and  troubled  myself  no  more  ex- 
cepting that  I  bestowed  a  good  -deal  of 
toilet  care  upon  them. 

And  every  moment  that  I  could  spare  I 
spent  in  M.  Brisso's  fencing-school,  for  I 
had  naturally  got  not  a  little  rusty  in  the  art 
and  needed  all  that  I  could  learn  in  the 
little  time  that  was  at  my  disposal,  so  as  to 
fit  myself  for  the  encounter  which  lay  before 
me. 

Still  I  worked  with  a  will ;  my  whole  heart 
and  soul  was  set  on  the  one  object,  and  it 
was  wonderful  how  quickly  I  picked  up  all 
that  I  had  known  before  and  a  good  deal 
that  I  had  never  known.  And  so,  by  the 
time  I  was  obliged  to  set  out  from  Paris  so 
as  to  keep  my  appointment  with  De  Lancy 
at  Aries,  I  was,  so  M.  Brisso  declared,  the 
prettiest  fencer  he  had  had  in  his  school  for 
years. 

It  is  a  far  cry  from  Paris  to  Aries,  but  I 
enjoyed  my  journey  there  very  thoroughly. 
The  weather  was  settled  and  very  fine,  the 

215 


Grip 

coach  ran  well,  the  horses  were  good  and 
the  driver  knew  his  business.  And  at  last 
I  was  within  measurable  distance  of  the 
hour  for  which  I  had  lived  for  nearly  nine 
years,  for  which  I  had  waded  through  the 
waters  of  desolation,  for  which  I  had  eaten 
of  the  bread  of  bitterness  and  endured  a 
life  which  was  little  if  any  better  than  hell 
itself.  Of  course,  there  was  just  a  chance 
that  De  Lancy  would  not  keep  the  tryst. 
He  had  faithfully  promised  to  do  so,  but 
how  was  I  to  be  sure  that  he  would  not 
prove  like  the  Baal  of  the  priests  to  have 
gone  on  a  journey,  or  to  be  asleep  ?  Of 
course  I  knew  that  he  would  have  no  ink- 
ling of  the  real  nature  of  my  errand,  but  I 
did  think  it  more  than  possible  that  he 
might  not  feel  inclined  to  put  himself  to 
trouble  and  inconvenience  in  order  to  keep 
the  tryst,  that  all  the  fine  promises  of  his 
days  of  obligation  might  prove  to  be  as  so 
much  piecrust,  made  to  be  broken,  that  he 
might  be  so  wrapped  up  in  his  happiness 
with  Margaret,  that  he  would  not  care 
to  take  a  journey  only  to  meet  the  friend  of 
his  time  of  desolation. 
216 


A  Tryst 

However,  only  time  would  show  whether 
he  would  be  there  or  not.  I  was  on  my 
way  thither  and  every  beat  of  the  good 
horses'  feet  took  me  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  place  where  we  were  to  meet ;  every 
slant  of  the  sun's  rays  saw  me  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  desire  which  had  possessed 
me  for  nine  years.  I  had  almost  forgotten 
that  I  had  ever  been  a  format,  the  years  I 
had  spent  in  the  Ba%ne  had  already  slipped 
far  away  into  the  consoling  distance  of  the 
past,  and  I  seemed  to  have  crammed  years 
of  pleasure  and  life  into  the  month  which 
had  just  gone  by. 

At  last  we  drew  near  to  Aries,  and  drove 
in  through  the  quaint  and  quiet  streets.  I 
took  note  of  the  beautiful  women  standing 
in  their  doorways  and  wondered  whether 
they  had  found  their  inheritance  of  loneli- 
ness a  blessing  or  a  curse?  I  wondered 
whether  any  of  them  had  played  fast  and 
loose  with  men's  best  and  holiest  feelings, 
whether  they  had  used  men's  hearts  as  a 
toy  and  a  plaything,  as  a  ball  to  be  tossed 
hither  and  thither,  and  likely  enough  to  be 
in  the  end  tossed  clean  out  of  sight,  to  be 
217 


Grip 

in  some  waste  place  uncared  for,  unthought 
of,  neglected  and  forlorn  ?  Then  we  turned 
into  the  great  court-yard  of  the  Hotel  du 
Soleil  d'Or  and  my  thoughts  were  directed 
into  an  altogether  different  channel. 

I  eagerly  scanned  the  faces  of  the  little 
crowd  of  people  who  had  assembled  to 
watch  the  arrival  of  the  coach,  but  that  of 
De  Lancy  was  not  among  them !  Still,  I 
was  beforehand  with  my  tryst,  and  two  days 
must  elapse  ere  the  full  time  would  be  up. 
I  walked  into  the  hotel  and  asked  whether 
they  had  any  news  of  the  Comte  de  Lancy's 
arrival  ? 

The  handsome  landlady  told  me  that 
Monsieur  le  Comte  had  commanded  rooms, 
she  believed,  for  the  following  day  ;  but 
he  had  certainly  not  yet  arrived. 

I  thanked  her  and  went  my  way.  So  he 
meant  to  come  after  all !  Well,  I  was  glad 
of  that.  I  was  only  one  step  now  from  my 
revenge ! 

I  did  not  remain  at  the  Soleil  d?Or  my- 
self. Not  for  worlds  would  I  have  re- 
mained under  the  same  roof  as  De  Lancy. 
I  therefore  went  to  the  other  of  the  two 
218 


A  Tryst 

principal  inns  of  the  little  place  and  there 
obtained  a  good  enough  lodging  for  all  my 
purposes. 

I  found  the  time  hang  exceedingly  heavy 
upon  my  hands.  I  knew  not  a  soul,  I  had 
not  learned  to  read  French,  so  that  even 
the  week-old  newspaper  of  the  district  was 
a  closed  book  to  me,  there  was  nothing  to 
see  in  the  place  excepting  the  beautiful 
women,  and  they  were  not  for  me  or  my 
heart  for  them.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  the 
night  would  never  come.  And  when  night 
did  come  at  last  I  found  myself  choking 
among  such  a  heap  of  down  that  I  had  to 
have  recourse  to  my  old  expedient  of  turn- 
ing out  and  lying  on  the  floor.  There  the 
mosquitoes  found  me  out  and  at  last  I  got 
up,  and  in  the  first  blush  of  the  early  dawn 
I  sallied  out  and  walked  off  to  the  Rhone, 
into  whose  waters  I  plunged  very  grate- 
fully. 

On  my  return  I  broke  my  fast  with  a  roll 
and  coffee,  and  put  on  the  time  somehow 
till  the  hour  came  round  for  the  coach  to 
arrive. 

But  De  Lancy  did  not  come  by  it ;  evi- 
219 


Grip 

dently  he  was  not  as  eager  for  our  tryst  as 
I  was  ;  he  did  not  mean  to  arrive  until  the 
next  day. 

I  was  still  standing  watching  the  horses 
being  taken  out,  when  the  handsome  land- 
lady of  the  hotel  came  out  into  the  court- 
yard and  addressed  herself  to  me. 

"  Monsieur  was  inquiring  yesterday  for 
Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Lancy,"  she  began, 
in  a  voice  which  was  that  of  a  person  plainly 
impressed  by  the  station  of  my  supposed 
friend. 

I  admitted  that  such  was  the  truth,  and 
she  continued,  "  Monsieur  le  Comte  has 
arrived  in  his  own  carriage,  with  post-horses. 
If  Monsieur  will  give  himself  the  pain  to 
enter,  I  will  inform  Monsieur  le  Comte  that 
Monsieur  inquires  for  him." 

I  followed  her  into  a  room  on  the  right 
of  the  door  feeling  that  the  supreme  mo- 
ment had  come.  There  was  a  window  look- 
ing into  the  court-yard,  where  the  coach 
was  still  standing,  and  another  at  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  room  looking  into  a  gar- 
den. I  strode  across  to  it,  my  heart  beat- 
ing hard  and  fast,  my  senses  almost  reeling 
220 


A  Tryst 

and — and — as  I  stood  there  half  hidden  by 
the  white  curtains,  I  saw  Margaret  Eden, 
my  Margaret,  wearing  a  white  gown — un- 
changed excepting  that  she  had  ripened 
and  grown  in  beauty — come  across  the 
grass-plot  straight  towards  me ! 


Grip 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  GIRL  IN  THE  GARDEN. 

A  S  I  stood  at  the  window  half  hidden 
JTIL  by  the  snowy  curtains,  such  a 
wave  of  tempestuous  feeling  overcame 
me  that  I  was  within  an  ace  of  breaking 
down  into  tears  like  a  weak  woman. 
As  I  watched  Margaret  coming  slowly 
across  the  grass,  I  knew  in  an  instant 
that  I  had  been  utterly  and  entirely 
wrong  in  thinking  that  my  love  for  my  early 
sweetheart  had  died  out  and  almost  given 
place  to  a  feeling  of  hatred.  Hatred — for 
her— my  God!  Hatred!  Why,  at  the 
very  first  sight  of  her,  I  knew  that  I  loved 
every  hair  of  her  head,  that  I  worshipped 
the  very  ground  on  which  she  walked,  and, 
most  positive  proof  of  all,  an  overwhelming 
conviction  came  to  me  that  for  her  sake, 

222 


The  Girl  in  The  Garden 

De  Lancy  was  safe,  if  she  loved  him,  I 
would  go  out  into  darkness  forever  rather 
than  touch  a  hair  of  his  head. 

I  watched  her  pass  on  out  of  sight  and 
then  I  heard  a  hurrying  footstep  on  the 
polished  floor  outside,  and  then  Margaret's 
own  voice  saying — "  Where  is  he  ?  In 
here  ? "  and  the  next  moment  a  lady  came 
running  in. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Hyde — what  words  can  I  ever 
find — why — why — George  I"  she  ended  with 
a  gasp. 

I  saw  De  Lancy  behind  her,  his  face 
shining  and  radiant  with  happiness,  but  the 
Margaret  who  had  taken  hold  of  both 
my  hands  was  a  new  Margaret,  a  stout, 
buxom,  rotund  Margaret  whom  I  had  never 
seen  before,  a  Margaret  whom  I  did  not 
know,  in  whom  I  could  see  but  few  traces 
of  the  sweetheart  of  long  ago,  and  who  then 
was  the  girl  in  the  garden,  the  girl  whom  I 
had  taken  for  Margaret  ? 

"  Margaret !  "  I  exclaimed,  and  my  tone 
must  have  sounded  incredulous,  for  she 
laughed  aloud. 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  Margaret'  in  that 
223 


Grip 

tone  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  Have  I  grown  so 
utterly  out  of  recognition  ?  " 

She  had,  but  I  could  not  well  say  so,  and 
moreover,  at  that  moment  De  Lancy,  who 
had  been  staring  in  a  perplexed  way  first  at 
one  and  then  at  the  other  of  us,  contrived 
to  put  a  word  in  edgeways,  as  the  saying 
goes. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  recognition,' 
Margaret  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  And  why  did 
you  call  him  '  George  ?  '  His  name  is 
Charles." 

"Nay,"  said  she  very  gently,  taking  her 
husband's  hand  while  she  still  kept  tight 
hold  of  one  of  mine — "  you  do  not  under- 
stand, dearest.  Your  friend  Charles  Hyde, 
if  this  be  he,  is  my  old  friend  and  sweet- 
heart, George  Somers  of  Somersley,  whom 
we  have  all  thought  dead  this  many  a  year." 

"  George  Somers — a  Somers  of  Somers- 
ley !  "  he  ejaculated  in  a  tone  of  the  most 
profound  astonishment,  "  and  you  knew  me 
all  along  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  did,"  I  admitted. 

He  had  got  hold  of  my  other  hand  by  this 
time  and  was  shaking  it  as  if  he  could  think 
224 


The  Girl  in  The  Garden 

of  no  other  way  of  expressing  himself — 
"My  friend — my  best  friend — "  he  broke 
out  at  last — "  I — I  can  find  no  words  now 
that  we  meet  at  last.  I  have  gone  over 
those  years  of  ours  together  a  hundred 
— no — no — a  thousand  times.  Your  si- 
lence  " 

"  My  silence  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  But  you 
never  wrote." 

"  What,  you  never  had  a  letter  from 
me?" 

"  Never  one  !  " 

"  Then  they  kept  back  my  letters,  for  I 
wrote — and  wrote — and  wrote.  As  I  told 
you  when  we  parted,  I  worked  day  and 
night  for  you.  You  have  never  been  a  day 
or  an  hour  out  of  my  thoughts.  I  never 
rested  till  I  obtained  your  pardon — and  this 
last  month  has  been  insupportable." 

"  What !  It  was  you  who  got  my  par- 
don ? "  I  cried. 

"  Do  you  think  that  pardons  drop  from 
the  skies,  my  friend  ?  "  he  said  simply. 

I  think  that  even  without  that  glimpse  of 
the  girl  in  the  garden,  my  old  hatred  could 
never  have  held  out  against  the  overflow- 
'5  225 


Grip 

ing  eagerness  of  the  pair  who  had  come  to 
meet  me.  Every  black  drop  seemed  to  be 
oozing  away  out  of  my  heart  and  I  saw 
Margaret  De  Lancy  for  the  first  time  in  her 
true  character ;  up  to  that  moment  she  had 
never  been  other  than  Margaret  Eden  to 
me. 

"  Do  you  think  that  pardons  drop  from 
the  skies,  my  friend  ?  "  he  said  simply 
....  at  which  I  released  my  hand  from 
Margaret's  close  clasp  and  took  his  in  both 
of  mine.  So  we  met  again,  my  enemy  and 
I,  the  man  whose  blood  I  had  sworn  to 
have,  the  man  whom  I  had  sheltered  and 
shielded,  and  hated  and,  as  I  now  knew, 
loved  even  while  I  thought  that  I  hated 
him. 

Then  for  the  first  time,  I  realized  that  it 
really  was  the  same  Margaret  as  in  the  old 
days,  for  she  put  out  her  two  hands  to  me  and 
said  just  in  the  old  tone,  "  Dear  old  George, 
I  have  so  often  wondered  why  Desmond's 
comrade  should  have  been  so  good  to  him, 
have  worked  and  slaved  for  him,  have 
spared  him  and  sheltered  him,  and  saved 
his  life  over  and  over  again  ?  I  might  have 
226 


The  Girl  in  The  Garden 

known — I  ought  to  have  known  who  Charles 
Hyde  was  all  the  time.  And  to  think  that 
you  were  doing  all  this  for  me  and  I — I " 

"  Pray  don't  say  another  word  about  it," 
I  said,  looking  down  at  her,  and,  if  the  truth 
be  told,  wondering  whether  it  was  happiness 
or  sorrow  which  had  changed  her  so  com- 
pletely from  the  sweetheart  of  my  boyish 
days  ?  It  seemed  then  as  if  it  was  centu- 
ries ago  since  I  had  had  any  love  for  Mar- 
garet Eden — so  much  may  we  change  in  a 
few  minutes  of  actuality. 

"  Dear  old  George,"  she  said,  in  just  the 
old  half  coy  tone  of  shy  affection. 

I  think  if  I  had  not  been  so  huge  and  she 
so  far  below  me  in  height,  that  she  would 
have  kissed  me  in  her  overflowing  gratitude 
and  excitement.  And  I  am  sure  that  De 
Lancy  would  not  have  minded,  even  had  he 
known  everything  in  the  past,  even  if  he 
could  have  looked  into  my  heart  and  seen 
the  barren  years  that  had  been  laid  waste 
by  my  love  for  this  woman.  But  I  never 
once  thought  of  bending  my  cheek  to  re- 
ceive the  caress  which  would  have  been  the 
highest  honor  she  would  have  known  how 
227 


Grip 

to  bestow  upon  me.  ...  I  had  given  my 
heart  away  and  I  have  ever  been  honest 
and  heart-whole,  if  nothing  else  in  my  deal- 
ings with  women. 

"  Tell  me — "  I  said,  when  at  last  we 
were  all  sitting  close  together — "  who — I 
thought  I  saw  you  in  the  garden  just  now, 
Margaret !  A  young  lady  in  a  white  gown, 
with  curls  over  her  shoulders." 

"  Ah — why,  don't  you  know  ?  Do  you 
think  her  so  like  me,  George  ? "  she  cried. 

"  I  thought  it  was  you." 

"It  was  Constance.  You  remember 
Constance  ?  She  is  spending  a  few  months 
with  us." 

"  Constance  Little  yellow-haired  Con- 
stance !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Ah,  yes :  she  is  so  excited  about  you. 
She  would  come  with  us,  and  she  does  not 
know  that  you  have  actually  arrived.  Des- 
mond, do  go  and  fetch  her,  dearest.  How 
cruel  of  us  to  forget  her." 

De  Lancy  got  up  at  once  and  went  to 

fetch  his  sister-in-law ;  and  then  Margaret 

turned  round  to  me   and  said — "  Dear  old 

George — I   have    not    said  a   thousandth 

228 


The  Girl  in  The  Garden 

part  of  what  I  meant  to  say  and  want  to 
say.  .  .  .  but  God  bless  you,  dear,  for  all 
the  past.  I've  made  you  a  bad  return." 

"  No — no — not  a  word  of  that,  please," 
I  said  entreatingly. 

"  Dear  old  George,"  she  said,  dashing 
away  her  tears  with  one  hand  while  she 
held  the  other  one  towards  me. 

I  took  it  and  kissed  it.  I  never  felt  so 
near  to  being  a  hypocrite  in  my  life. 

De  Lancy  came  back  then,  bringing  his 
sister-in-law  with  him.  "  Have  you  told 
her  ? "  I  heard  Margaret  say,  and  he 
quickly  replied,  "  Not  a  word !  " 

"  Constance,"  said  Madame  De  Lancy, 
"  this  is  Desmond's  friend  and  comrade, 
Charles  Hyde." 

I  bowed  profoundly,  and  she  looked  at 
me  with  a  puzzled  air  as  she  held  out  her 
hand.  "  I  am  sure,"  she  said  with  a  very 
gracious  and  winning  air,  "  that  we  can 
never  all  of  us  say  or  do  enough  to  thank 
you  for  all  you  have  been  to  Desmond  and 
done  for  him  ;  but  we  will  try,  Mr.  Hyde, 
indeed  we  will." 

"  You  have  thanked  me  sufficiently 
229 


Grip 

already,"  I  said,  trying  not  to  show  the 
overpowering  emotion  which  almost  pos- 
sessed me. 

She  started  at  the  sound  of  my  voice  and 
looked  aside  at  her  sister.  "  Margaret," 
she  said,  "  surely,  that  is  a  Somers  voice. 
Is  it — it  is — yes,  it's  George  Somers, 
George  Somers  himself  all  the  time !  But 
why  were  you  called  Charles  Hyde  ?  And 
why  did  you  not  give  Desmond  a  hint  of 
the  truth  ?  We  thought  it  so  strange  that  a 
mere  friend  should  be  so  good,  but  there  is 
nothing  wonderful  in  a  Somers  standing  by 
an  Eden.  And  only  think,  Margaret,  how 
delighted  dear  old  Aunt  Eliza  will  be  ! 
She  has  almost  broken  her  heart  over  you." 


230 


Constance 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CONSTANCE. 

I  ALMOST  forget  how  long  we  talked 
that  day  and  what  was  said.  But  I  do 
remember  that  Margaret  turned  to  me  with 
the  first  cloud  which,  as  yet,  had  darkened 
her  face  and  said,  "  Oh,  George,  I  am 
afraid  I  have  bad  news  for  you.  Your  dear 
old  father. . . ." 

"  Not  gone  ?  "  I  asked  quickly. 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  the  tears  came 
into  her  eyes  ;  I  needed  no  other  answer. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"  I  am  glad  that  he  never  knew.  If  he 
knows  now,  he  understands  everything." 

"  Everything,"  she  said  softly. 

I  meant  more  by  the  word  than  she  did, 
and  I  felt  that  if  my  dear  old  dad  was 
cognizant  of  all  that  had  passed  in  my 
heart  that  day,  he  must  be  happy  indeed 
to  think  that  such  a  load  of  evil  thoughts 
231 


Grip 

had  slipped  away  from  me  into  oblivion  for- 
ever. 

"George,  dear,"  she  continued,  "I'm 
afraid  that  is  not  quite  all." 

My  heart  went  out  to  our  little  Benjamin 
at  once.  "  Not  Wynne,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  No,  not  Wynne,  but  Robert." 

"  Bob  !  Not  dead? "  I  called  out  incred- 
ulously. 

She  looked  at  me.  "  He  was  killed  in 
the  hunting-field  last  year.  And  Wynne 
has  since  then  persistently  refused  to  use 
the  title  unless  he  had  sure  evidence  of 
your  death." 

"  My  death  !  The  title,  .  .  .  .  do  you 
mean.  .  .  .  ?  " 

"That  you  are  Sir  George  Somers  of 
Somersley,"  she  said  very  gently. 

I  took  the  news  quietly.  There  was 
nothing  to  rejoice  over  and,  in  truth,  I 
would  infinitely  rather  have  continued  to 
be  plain  George  Somers,  the  "  Mr.  Garge  " 
of  my  younger  days,  than  have  become  the 
head  of  the  family  by  my  brother's  death. 

"We  must  let  Wynne  know,"  said  Mar- 
garet presently. 

232 


Constance 

"  I  must  go  home  at  once.  I  must  see 
them  all,  all  that  are  left,"  I  declared. 

"  No — no — we  will  send  for  Wynne. 
Dear  boy,  he  will  be  so  rejoiced  and  he 
will  love  to  come  to  St.  Etienne  for  a  few 
weeks.  Then  you  can  go  home  together. 
Remember  you  are  promised  to  us  for  the 
present  and  I  can  consent  to  nothing 
else." 

"  If  it  were  only  Wynne,"  I  made  reply, 
"  I  would  gladly  fall  in  with  your  wishes. 
But  I  have  my  aunt  to  think  of.  She  is  an 
old  lady ;  I  could  not  expect  her  to  make 
such  a  journey  at  her  time  of  day,  particu- 
larly when  I  am  a  great  hulking  fellow  in 
the  best  of  health,  who  is  perfectly  well  able 
to  go  and  seek  her." 

"  But  your  visit  to  St.  Etienne,"  cried 
Margaret  blankly. 

"  Dear  Margaret,  it  will  only  be  put  off. 
I  will  inflict  myself  on  you  later  on.  Let 
me  propose  a  plan.  Do  you  know  where 
Wynne  is  just  now  ?  " 

"  Wynne  is  at  home.  I  had  a  letter  from 
my  mother  this  morning,"  put  in  Constance 
Eden.  "  Your  Aunt  Eliza  too,  she  is  at 

233 


Grip 

Somersley.  She  has  been  a  good  deal  there 
since  Wynne  was  left  alone." 

"  Then  let  us  all  go  back  to  dear  York- 
shire," I  said,  "and  you  shall  all  be  my 
guests  at  Somersley.  So  long  as  you  two 
are  together,  I  don't  suppose  it  matters 
whether  you  are  in  France  or  England. 
You  must  see,  Margaret,  my  dear,  that  I 
must  get  home  to  see  Aunt  Eliza  and  Wynne 
without  delay.  Don't  let  me  go  back 
alone." 

It  was  as  I  had  said,  it  mattered  little  or 
nothing  to  Margaret  de  Lancy  where  they 
were  so  long  as  they  were  together,  and  so 
long  as  we  were  all  together,  they  both 
seemed  to  be  content.  As  for  me,  I  can 
hardly  tell  you  what  my  feelings  were  at 
this  time.  I  looked  back  in  astonishment 
and  wonder  over  the  days  when  I  had 
honestly  believed  myself  to  be  in  love  with 
Margaret,  and  in  still  greater  bewilderment 
to  the  years  when  I  had  genuinely  believed 
myself  to  be  Margaret  de  Lancy's  bitterest 
and  most  implacable  enemy.  It  seemed 
now  as  if  all  those  evil  thoughts  had  found 
a  home  in  my  heart  for  no  other  purpose 

234 


Constance 

than  to  save  me  to  woo  an  Eden  bride — for 
I  knew  by  that  time  that  my  old  affair  with 
Margaret  had  been  but  a  forecasting  of  my 
unquenchable  love  and  adoration  for  her 
sister.  I  had  mistaken  the  boy's  for  the 
man's  love,  just  as  one  might  mistake  paste 
for  a  diamond.  But  what  man  or  woman 
ever  mistakes  a  diamond  for  paste  I  should 
like  to  know  ? 

Out  of  deference  to  my  impatience  to  see 
my  home  and  my  own  people  again,  the  De 
Lancys  made  no  objections  to  starting  for 
England  at  once.  We  set  out  indeed  the 
very  next  day,  Constance  Eden  going  with 
us.  And  in  due  course  of  time  we  all  ar- 
rived at  Somersley,  the  dear  home,  which  I 
had  often  thought  never  to  see  again.  It 
was  both  sweet  and  bitter,  that  home-going. 
Sweet  to  be  there  among  the  true  York- 
shire hearts,  in  the  sound  of  the  mellow 
Yorkshire  voices,  in  sight  of  the  blue  wolds 
and  in  daily  touch  with  the  great,  strong, 
healthy,  well-living,  manly  people  ;  bitter  to 
hear  myself  daily  addressed  by  the  title 
which  ever  reminded  me  of  those  who  had 
gone  before  me  ;  bitter  to  think  that  I  should 

235 


Grip 

never  see  them  again,  that  they  had  passed 
away  all  unknowing  of  the  truth. 

My  dear  lad,  Wynne,  was  so  delighted 
to  see  me,  he  would  scarce  leave  me  and 
for  days  kept  putting  his  hand  on  mine  as 
if  to  make  sure  that  I  was  a  real  presence 
and  not  a  mere  dream-thing,  who  might 
vanish  and  leave  him  wide-awake  to  the 
reality  of  chill  disappointment.  My  dear 
little  Benjamin. 

As  for  Aunt  Eliza,  she  was  the  same 
doughty,  erect,  bluff  and  worldly  woman  with 
a  heart  of  gold  as  she  had  ever  been.  Her 
reception  of  me  was  thoroughly  characteris- 
tic of  herself. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  exactly  as  if  I 
had  been  away  for  a  week  or  so,  "  it  is  de- 
lightful to  see  you  back  again.  I  am  a  good 
deal  older  than  I  was  and  you  I  daresay  are 
wiser.  Come  to  my  room  and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

I  did  go  and  I  told  her  everything  from 
beginning  to  end,  or  if  not  quite  to  the  end, 
I  confided  everything  down  to  the  time  of 
my  seeing  Margaret  de  Lancy  again.  Then, 
too,  I  told  her  all  about  Mrs.  Hyde  and  her 
236 


Constance 

niece  Ginevra,  and  Aunt  Eliza  poked  a 
little  sly  fun  at  me  on  the  score  of  that 
most  innocent  young  lady,  such  as  would, 
I  am  sure,  have  been  very  greatly  to  her 
astonishment. 

About  this  time  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Hyde 
and  explained  myself.  I  told  her  how  she 
might,  by  applying  to  Jules  Ferrand,  get 
definite  news  of  her  son,  and  in  reply,  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  saying  that  she  and  her 
niece  were  on  the  point  of  starting  for  Paris, 
in  order  to  follow  up  my  clue  to  the  further- 
most end.  A  few  weeks  later  she  wrote  to 
me  from  the  gay  city,  telling  me  that  she 
had  proved  beyond  all  shadow  of  doubt 
both  the  time  and  place  of  her  son's  death. 
She  sent  me  her  best  thanks,  and  told  me 
that  she  perfectly  understood  my  reasons 
for  not  having  spoken  out  at  the  time  of 
her  visit  to  the  Bagne.  She  spoke  of  the 
relief  of  knowing  the  truth  and  begging  me, 
when  I  found  myself  at  leisure,  to  go  down 
to  Gloucestershire  and  pay  her  a  visit. 

"  You  will  go  ? "  said  Aunt  Eliza,  when  I 
showed  her  the  letter. 

"  By  and  by,  perhaps,"  I  replied. 

237 


Grip 

She  looked  at  me  sharply.  "  Is  this  girl 
pretty  ? " 

"  What  girl  ?  " 

"  This  Ginevra  !  I  don't  know  her  other 
name." 

"  Miss  Osmond.  No,  I  don't  think  so. 
Not  particularly  pretty  anyway,"  I  re- 
plied. "  I  should  not  go  to  see  her  in  any 
case." 

"  Oh  !  Ah,  well,  I  thought  you  might  be. 
— You've  quite  got  over  the  other  affair  ? " 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  I  said  smiling. 

My  thoughts  went  flying  helter-skelter  to 
Thorpe-Hutton  where  she  was.  The  De 
Lancys  with  their  children  were,  of  course, 
my  guests  at  Somersley ;  but,  after  break- 
ing her  journey  for  a  single  night,  Con- 
stance Eden  had  gone  home  to  Thorpe- 
Hutton,  so  that  I  only  saw  her  from  time 
to  time.  Yet  every  time  that  we  met  served 
but  to  deepen  my  love,  to  forge  the  chain 
which  bound  my  heart  yet  a  little  more 
closely  to  hers. 

It  happened  one  day  that  Margaret,  who 
was  suffering  from  a  severe  nervous  head- 
ache, asked  me  if  I  would  send  over  to  her 

238 


Constance 

father's  house  for  something  which  she  re- 
quired. "  Desmond  would  go,"  she  said, 
"  but  he  hates  to  leave  me  if  I  am  ill."  - 

"  I'll  ride  over,"  I  said  promptly. 

"  No — no — I  cannot " 

"  I  was  going  to  Thorpe-Hutton  to-day 
in  any  case,"  I  said,  telling  a  lie  without 
the  very  smallest  compunction.  "  So  give 
me  a  note  to  your  mother  and  I  will  under- 
take to  deliver  it  safely." 

But  I  did  not,  however,  find  Mrs.  Eden 
at  home.  The  servant  who  answered  my 
summons  at  the  door  told  me  that  he  be- 
lieved she  would  not  be  back  till  close  on 
dinner-time,  but  added  that  he  was  not 
sure  whether  Miss  Eden  was  in  the  grounds 
or  not.  "  But  I  know,  Sir  George,"  he 
added,  "that  she  did  not  go  with  the  mis- 
tress." 

I  said  at  once  that  I  would  go  into  the 
grounds  and  see  if  I  could  not  find  her, 
and  that  failing  to  do  so,  I  would  return  to 
the  house.  I  turned  back  from  the  great 
entrance  and  passed  into  the  gardens,  to 
that  part  where  I  had  an  idea  she  might  be 
found.  And  my  instinct  proved  to  be 

239 


Grip 

right,  for  I  came  upon  her  in  a  shady  arbor 
where,  sheltered  from  the  mild  October 
breezes,  she  was  busily  engaged  in  stitch- 
ing at  a  bit  of  delicate  embroidery. 

I  went  in  and  joined  her,  and  having 
given  over  Margaret's  letter,  I,  from  some 
impulse,  gave  her  also  the  letter  which  I  had 
received  several  days  previously  from  Mrs. 
Hyde. 

"  So,"  I  said,  "the  poor  lady  is  satisfied 
at  last.  I  wish  I  could  have  been  the  means 
of  helping  her  to  a  more  satisfactory  end, 
but  perhaps,  as  she  says,  the  certainty  is 
better  to  bear  than  suspense." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  for  her  heart  must  have  told 
her  the  truth  long  ago,"  Constance  said 
pitifully.  "  She  must  have  known  that 
there  was  no  hope  any  longer." 

"  You  think  so  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.     I  am  sure  of  it." 

She  read  the  letter  to  the  end  and  gave 
it  back  to  me. 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  I  have  never 

understood,"  she  said,  at  last  breaking  the 

silence  which  had  fallen  upon  us — "  that  is, 

why  did  you  never  confide  your  secret  to 

240 


Constance 

Desmond  ?  It  would  have  been  quite  safe 
with  him." 

She  looked  at  me  with  lovely  limpid  eyes 
which  seemed  to  set  my  heart  on  fire.  I 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  got  up  and  strode 
to  the  door  of  the  arbor,  then  back  again 
to  her  side.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  everything  ?  " 
I  asked,  speaking  in  a  hurry. 

"  I  would  like  to  know,"  she  answered 
simply. 

Then  I  told  her  all !  I  kept  back  noth- 
ing, I  laid  bare  my  very  soul  from  the  day 
on  which  I  went  blustering  to  the  Colonel 
of  the  Regent's  with  the  request  for  leave 
"  because  they  were  going  to  sell  my  sweet- 
heart to  a  beast  of  a  Frenchman,"  right 
down  to  the  time  when  I  reached  the  Hotel 
du  Soleil  d'Or  at  Aries. 

She  looked  at  me  wonderingly.  "  And 
what  happened  to  change  you  so  ? "  she 
asked.  "  What  made  you  give  up  your 
quest  after  so  many  years  ?  " 

I  hesitated.     I  did  not  dare  to  tell  her 

that  it  was  because  I   had  seen  her  from 

the  window ;  because  I  had  taken  her  for 

Margaret  and  had  fallen  more  violently  in 

6  241 


Grip 

love  with  her  than  I  had  ever  been  in  all 
my  life  before  ;  that  after  once  seeing  her — 
though  I  believed  her  at  the  moment  to  be 
Margaret — I  had  given  up  all  idea  of  re- 
venge, I  had  abandoned  my  hideous  quest ; 
that  love  had  softened  where  hate  had 
hardened. 

True,  I  was  Sir  George  Somers  of  Som- 
ersley,  I  was  in  the  very  prime  of  life,  I 
was  rich,  unfettered,  well-born,  and  only 
a  few,  who  would  safely  keep  my  secret, 
knew  where  and  how  I  had  spent  the  past 
eight  years. 

Still  I  dared  not  speak.  There  was  a 
cloud,  there  was  a  ban,  there  was  a  secret, 
and  it  was  one  of  shame  ;  my  hands  were 
stained  with  blood,  though  not  blood  shed 
maliciously.  Knowing  all  this,  I  did  not 
dare  to  speak,  for  to  speak  would  be  to 
aspire  to  her  hand — and  who  was  I,  a  jail- 
bird, that  I  should  look  at  her  ? 

"  You  don't  hate  Desmond  now,"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  no ;  on  the  contrary,  he  is  my  best 
friend." 

"But  you  did — till  you  met  at  Aries," 
242 


Constance 

she  persisted.  "  What  was  it  that  changed 
you  so  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  I  stammered. 

"  No  ? "  she  said  gently.  "  Well — I  am 
glad  you  don't  hate  him  now.  He  is  a 
dear  fellow  though — though  I  confess  that 
I  have  never  quite  understood  Margaret's 
adoration  of  him." 

She  dropped  her  voice  almost  to  a  whis- 
per and  she  dropped  her  head  over  her 
embroidery,  until  her  face  was  hidden  from 
view.  Something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice 
made  me  turn  and  look  at  her. 

"  Constance,"  I  said,  and  my  heart  was 
beating  so  painfully  that  I  could  scarcely 
get  my  words  out — "  what  do  you  mean  ? 
Am  I  to  understand  that  if  you  had  been 
Margaret — you  would  have  chosen— other- 
wise ? " 

"  I  don't  think  that  I  should  ever  have 
chosen  Desmond,"  she  said,  speaking  very 
low  and  bending  her  head  yet  more  and 
more  over  her  needle-work. 

"  And  you  mean ?  Oh,  Constance  — 

think.  I'm  so  big,  so  ugly.  I  have  passed 
the  best  years  of  my  life  in  a  French  prison. 

243 


Grip 

I  would  not  dare — I  would  not  presume — I 
could  never  hope " 

She  flashed  a  look  upon  me  and  I  caught 
the  glint  of  tears  in  her  eyes.  Then  she 
rose  up  and  moved  towards  the  entrance 
of  the  arbor. 

"  Must  I  make  my  meaning  so  very 
clear  ? "  she  said  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

She  made  as  though  she  was  about  to 
turn  away  but  I  sprang  after  her  and  caught 
her  back.  "  Do  you  realize  all  that  you  are 
saying  ?  "  I  exclaimed  almost  roughly. 
"  You  know  what  kind  of  a  life  I  have  had, 
but  you  don't  know  what  disappointment 
would  be  to  me  now.  Don't  play  fast  and 
loose  with  me." 

She  drew  herself  up  and  all  the  shyness 
died  out  of  her  manner.  "  You  are  taking 
me  for  my  sister,"  she  said — then  uttered  a 
cry  of  self-reproach.  "  Oh,  I  ought  not  to 
have  said  that !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Possibly  not,  and  yet  it  was  that  little 
slip  of  the  tongue  which  gave  her  to  me. 

"  You  really  mean  it  ? "  I  said  incredu- 
lously after  a  little  while. 

"  I  really  mean  it,"  she  said,  half  saucily. 
244 


Constance 

"  But  what  can  you  see — in  me  ?  "  I  cried, 
scarce  able  to  believe  in  my  good  fortune. 

She  looked  at  me,  and  in  that  moment 
all  my  doubts  and  fears  died  and  were  at 
rest  forever. 

"  I  see — a  man"  she  said.  "  I  see — 
you  /" 

Within  my  wife's  wedding-ring  two  words 
are  inscribed.  They  were  graven  there  to 
please  her  and  they  are — "  Charles  Hyde." 


THE  END. 


245 


PRINTED    AT    THE    PRESS    OF 
FLEMING,  SCHILLER    AND    CARNRICK, 
NEW  YORK,  FOR  STONE  AND  KIMBALL, 
PUBLISHERS,   NEW    YORK. 

OCTOBER:    M DCCC XCVI 


uc  sou 


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